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A 


Beautiful Bird Without a Name, 

OR, 

A TRUE KENTUCKY GIRL. 



MISS BELLE PETERSON, 

n 

Author of “Rose Sherwood; or,. The Star is Shining Still ; ” 
“One Word and a Tear; or, the Wounded Dove;” 
“The Story of Leonoria Parolee,” and 
Poetical Works. 




LOUISVILLE: 

courier-journal job printing company. 

1883. 



TO THE 

STATE OF TEXAS 

AND HER MUCH-LOVED AND HONORED PEOPLE, 

This Book 

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHORESS, 

AS A SLIGHT TOKEN 
OF HER 

HIGH APPRECIATION OF THE UNLIMITED KINDNESS 

AND 

HOSPITALITY WHICH SHE 

RECEIVED WHILE MAKING HER TOUR 
THROUGH 

THE LONE STAR STATE. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, by 
Belle Peterson, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


PREFACE. 


Miss Belle Peterson, the Authoress of this work and 
whose name is familiar to us all, is a native of. North Carolina, 
but for several years has been a resident of Kentucky, where 
the plot of her story is laid, and where she now resides upon 
one of the most popular streets of Louisville. She is a descend- 
ant of Daniel Boone, the great Pioneer of the West, and of 
Mary Slocum, distinguished in the Revolutionary struggle of the 
colonies with the mother country. She is also a grandniece of 
the celebrated William Rufus King, once Governor of the State 
of Alabama and afterward Vice-president of the United States. 

Miss Peterson deserves the success she has attained in the 
literary world, this being her fourth production, all of which 
have received the high commendations of the press. 

The style of the present story is pleasing and graceful, also 
stirring and vivid ; being a touching tribute to woman’s con- 
stancy and devotion, and man’s gallantry and bravery, and 
which we hope will grow rapidly into public favor. 

And now, with our best wishes for the success of this inter- 
esting work of the fair Authoress of Kentucky, we commend it 
to the public. 


Mrs. B. Kennedy. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

I. A leap from the midnight train — A mother’s wild despair — 

A sad funeral, 5 

II. A wail of grief in the city of the dead, . 29 

III. The phantom of the night ; or, a mysterious letter, .... 45 

IV. The letter translated, 58 

V. I can not bury my father in Potter’s field ; or, the doom of a 

drunkard’s wife, 67 

VI. Veary Carlisle has found a friend ; or, the cloud is passing 

away, 79 

VII. A deathbed gift — A mother’s blessing, 88 

VIII. Birdie’s trials; or, out in the cold world alone, 91 

IX. Dr. St. George and the little beggar girl, 97 

X. The bird has flown from its thorny nest ; or, a narrow escape, 1 1 7 

XI. Veary Carlisle mourns over the loss of his little Birdie, . . 128 

XII. Found in the snow; or, an old man’s story, 154 

XIII. The orphan’s prayer ; or, the angel of the house, 164 

XIV. The dying child in the lone house in the mountains, . . . 175 

XV. Birdie’s adventure; or, the meeting at the spring, 183 

XVI. Has she been named in heaven ; or, do the angels call her 

Birdie still, 198 

XVII. A row by moonlight; or, saved from a watery grave, . . . 209 

XVIII. Birdie’s surprise ; or, the miniature in the woods, 220 

XIX. The chamber of death — The fourth time an orphan, .... 240 

XX. The confession of a dying man, 246 

XXI. Not dead, but living — A happy surprise — Engagement, . . 256 

XXII. Found at last in the city of the dead; or the baby in the 

eagle’s nest 276 

XXIII. Lines to little Ida Belle Peterson, 295 

XXIV. Essay on the men and women of the present day, 297 

Doubt and Despair, 325 


CHAPTER I. 


A LEAP FROM THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN A MOTHER’S WILD DE- 
SPAIR A SAD FUNERAL. 

White-winged peace sits enthroned on yon fleecy cloud, 
and the day-god, clothed in majesty sublime, shoots forth 
his golden arrows, spreading bright effulgence through my 
rippling hair, and playing hide-and-seek around my pen as 
I endeavor to gather up a few scattered links of memory’s 
broken chain. Had my pen been plucked from some 
beautiful bird of paradise and dipped in the dyes of the 
rainbow as it steeps its lovely form in the rays of a mid- 
day sun that turns the dewdrops into sparkling diamonds, 
and makes rainbow bridges of the seven precious stones, 
and builds castles of ruby with gates of pearl, I might 
attempt to paint in glowing colors the story of one whose 
life I am about to narrate; and should these written pages 
rest beneath the critic’s eye, deal gently with the one who 
traced them there, for my pen is but a steel one, and 
is dipped in blue ink ; and my readers will have to accept 
the plain truth from my simple and unsophisticated pen. 

It is a calm, hazy October morning. Soft, golden-edged 
clouds float peacefully over the blue vault of heaven and 
2 ( 5 ) 


6 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


cast their shadows upon my table as I write. A fragrant 
breeze, so fresh and pure that one feels sure its original 
home must have been in some far-away paradisical island in 
a southern sea, is holding sweet communion with the dying 
leaves as they breathe a sad farewell to the parent oak 
that stands like a sentinel in triumphal security, twining 
its leaf-clad arms in close embrace. A pure stillness is 
floating through the air, while the silver gleam of the 
reaper’s blade flashes mid autumn’s generous sheaves, and 
all nature seems to sink into one grand repose, wherein 
strife and misery and death appear to have 10 part. 

The ocean of life may present a calm, unbroken surface 
to the eye — the very picture of repose — while beneath, the 
dark and turbid current is surging to and fro, black and 
angry. The sky may smile without a cloud, as its blue 
depths are bathed in a flood of sunshine; and yet the 
storm be brewing and the lightning be heating its red bolts 
and the storm-troops marshaling for the onset. The human 
countenance may be as calm as that ocean, while bitter 
waters are welling up in the heart as bright with sunshine 
as that sky unclouded, and yet the fierce tempest be sweep- 
ing across the soul, or the echoes of sorrow’s wail linger 
mid ruins of hopes which have been destroyed. As we 
bury the past and write its epitaph we turn a new leaf in 
the volume of time and enter upon the future with re- 
kindled hopes and aspirations. 

Perhaps it is well for us that an impenetrable veil of 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 7 

mystery hangs over our future that is unsolvable by human 
reason. “What a world of chance! Fortune may make 
us her idol to-day and her foot-ball to-morrow.” Nothing 
in this world ever turns out just as we expect it. You 
can go on and plan and contrive and say you will do thus 
and so, and when the time comes round you will be 
thunder-struck at the odd turn every thing has taken, 
totally different from your plans, no matter how care- 
fully laid and arranged. We must go through the world 
not knowing, taking every thing on trust. And the per- 
son is wise indeed who has courage enough to take the 
world just as he finds it, without any absurd expectations. 

“Blessed is he who expects nothing,” says the old 
proverb, “for then he will never be disappointed.” 

Life, however, has some sunny spots, but they who 
seek happiness only from this world find but few of them. 
The gifted Byron, possessed of rank and talent by which 
he swayed at will the human heart, and the waking of 
whose harp nations heard entranced, was most unhappy. 
Ambition is a demon ; and Fame has eagle’s wings, and 
she mounts not as high as we desire. When all is gained, 
how little then is won ! And yet to gain that little, how 
much is lost! Let us once aspire, and madness follows. 
Could we but drag the purple from the hero’s heart ; could 
we but tear the laurel from the poet’s throbbing brow, 
and read their doubts, their dangers, their despair, we 
might learn a greater lesson than we shall ever acquire by 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


musing over their exploits or their aspirations. Think of 
unrecognized Caesar, with his wasting youth, weeping over 
the Macedonian’s young career ! Could Pharsalia com- 
pensate for those withering pangs? View the obscure 
Napoleon starving in the streets of Paris! What was St. 
Helena to the bitterness of such existence? The visions 
of past glory might illumine even that dark imprisonment, 
but to be conscious that his supernatural energies might 
die away without creating their miracles — can the wheel 
or the bastile rival the torture of such a thought ? Be- 
hold Byron bending over his shattered lyre, with inspira- 
tion in his very rage ! And the pert taunt could sting 
even this child of light! To doubt the truth of the creed 
in which you have been nurtured is not so terrific as to 
doubt respecting the intellectual vigor, on the strength of 
which you have staked your happiness. 

The glorious king of day had finished his grand parade, 
,and his flaming banner of bronze and gold was waving 
triumphantly in the western sky, when he tipped his royal 
.cap, and with a low bow bid good-night to the nocturnal 
queen as she arose in her chariot of silver, surrounded by 
her maids of honor, trembling lest they should offend her 
majesty. The distant hills blushed under the good-night 
kiss of the setting sun ; and as if for shame twilight shut 
her curtain down and pinned it with a star ; and the lim- 
pid, silvery waters, as if offended, hurriedly left their 
mountain home, gurgling and foaming and moaning as 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 9 

they threw themselves upon the rocks below, breaking 
into snowy spray, and then gathering themselves together 
again, leaped into the deep, quiet waters of the Ohio. 

Away in the west a few golden-edged clouds lay along 
the horizon, illuminated by the rays of the setting sun 
which had just sunk to rest behind the treetops as if loth 
to leave to the shadows of night the beautiful scene it so 
lately had clad in a sheen of gold, until the waters of the 
Ohio seemed turned into a sea like unto that which the 
wise king added to the glories of the temple. 

Dr. St. George had been standing at his office window 
for some time watching the beautiful scene. Though his 
face bore traces of sadness, his eyes were bright with the 
fire of youth, and hope was strong in his manly breast. 
Though young, he had aspired to the topmost round of 
his profession, and stood among the first physicians of the 
day. No man was more loved in the community where 
he was reared ; and no physician was more honored and 
respected in the field where he labored. He had married 
quite young, and eighteen months of perfect happiness 
had passed over his head. Nothing had come to disturb 
the quietude of his short but peaceful wedded life, until 
one day he found the canker-worm eating into the heart of 
his flower, and the hectic flush burning like rubies upon 
her cheek. While in this deep reverie, a hand was gently 
laid upon his shoulder, and turning round he beheld one 
of the disciples of Blackstone, who said : 


10 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


‘ ‘ I have been standing at your elbow at least a half 
hour, and must say that I have never seen any one so com- 
pletely lost in thought. Why, doctor, what is the matter? 
You would impress one with the idea that you were con- 
templating suicide.” 

The doctor smiled as he gave the lawyer a warm grasp 
of the hand, but it was any thing but a mirthful flash ; 
there was something lacking in that smile, and something, 
too, was there which told of a sorrow deep down in the 
hidden chambers of his soul that had never been resur- 
rected. 

“You take me rather by surprise,” said he; “I 
thought you had left the city.” 

“ I have been away from the city several days,” said 
the lawyer, “ and have just returned. I saw your’s and 
your wife’s departure for the White Sulphur in the socials 
this morning, and thought that I would drop round and 
see you. I suppose you leave to-morrow morning.” 

“Yes,” replied the doctor; “all preparations have 
been made to start on the 26th.” 

“ By the way, have you obtained a nurse?” said the 
lawyer. “ I saw your advertisement for one ; if you have 
not, I think that I can send you a most excellent one, and 
one, too, who has had considerable experience.” 

“Yes; I was fortunate enough to get one this morn- 
ing,” said the doctor; “and I think my wife will be 
pleased with her. She is an old Spanish woman, and has 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


II 


spent her whole life in the nursery. She says she is 
formerly of Cincinnati.” 

“I am sorry to see you leave just at this time,” said the 
lawyer ; ‘ ‘ for I think that it would be very essential that 
you should be at court when that case comes off. ” 

“I saw your partner, Mr. Calhone, this morning, and 
he told me that it was not necessary that I should be 
there,” said Dr. St. George, looking very much disap- 
pointed. 

“I know,” said the lawyer, “we did think so at first; 
but something has caused us to change our minds, and we 
think it is very essential that you should be there in per- 
son. I am sorry to disappoint you,” he continued, “ but 
one should look after his own interest. 

“I must first look after the interest of my wife,” said 
the doctor ; “I can not see her dying right under my nose 
and not make an effort to save her, for the sake of a few 
dollars ; no, not for millions. She has been neglected too 
long already,” and he turned and gazed out of the window 
for several minutes. 

“You must excuse me,” said the lawyer; “this is the 
first of my knowing about her illness ; I thought you were 
merely going on a pleasure trip.” 

“My wife is not confined to her bed, and never has 
been, but any one can see that she is dying by degrees ; 
that cough is wearing her life away, and unless she has a 
change I am afraid there is not much hope. And I never 


12 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


can forgive myself for not sending her sooner, for it was 
only selfishness in me ; I could not bear the thought of her 
leaving me for even a week.” 

Then there was silence, when the lawyer said, ‘ ‘ I am 
sorry for you, my friend, and hope it is not as bad as you 
think, and perhaps this trip will be beneficial to her. Judge 
Holliday and family are going to start to-morrow evening, 
he continued, “and I know the old judge will take great 
pleasure in doing any thing for your wife that lies in his 
power, besides he has a most excellent one himself, and I 
don’t think you would have any cause to be uneasy should 
she go in company with them.” 

“I know the judge quite well,” said the doctor, “and 
I am glad that he and his wife are going ; I think I will go 
around and see him after tea, and see what arrangement 
we can make.” 

“I have no doubt but that your wife will consent to 
your remaining until after court, when you explain every 
thing to her,” the lawyer replied. 

“She will consent to any thing that will promote my 
welfare,” said the doctor; “for if any man was ever blessed 
with a good wife I am.” 

The two men walked out of the office, and after bidding 
each other good-night each sought his respective home ; 
one pondering over perplexing questions and tangled 
problems of law, the other trying to decide whether or 
not to permit his wife to go alone to the springs. But he 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


3 


could not decide, and said to himself, “Well, I will leave 
it to her, and whatever her decision is I will abide by it, 
let it be whatever it may.” 

At the window of a beautiful mansion stood an exquis- 
itely beautiful, high-bred woman, whose every motion was 
replete with grace and harmony. Long she gazed upon 
the fading loveliness ; and when at last the glorious 
clouds had lost their splendor, and lay dense and somber, 
as if in grief that the glorious king had departed ; and the 
lakes and rivers also seemed to join in the same aspect of 
regret, the full moon rose up into the sky, and both 
clouds and lake caught up her smiles, and lay like islands 
of silver in earth and heaven. 

“We will soon see papa,” said she, as she knelt down 
beside the crib and kissed her babe that was cooing and 
smiling and throwing up its little dimpled arms and tiny 
hands, with one little foot peeping out from beneath the 
white spread. Long the beautiful mother gazed upon her 
smiling baby from out the inner sanctuary of her souk 
Then she kissed its little face and hands and feet; now’ 
and then pressing it to her throbbing heart with an eager- 
ness that seemed as though she expected every minute 
something would tear it from her embrace; and then she 
uttered a prayer, that He who holds the world as water in 
the hollow of His hand would w r atch over her precious dar- 
ling, and protect it from the storms of life, and from the 


14 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

temptations of this cold, fallacious world, and guide its 
tender footsteps over the rugged and stony paths as it 
ascended the steeps of Time ; for ere long she would im- 
press the parting kiss upon its white brow, and seek a 
home in that land from whence no traveler returns, and its 
tiny feet would have to travel the thorny labyrinths of life 
without a mother’s tender care and loving counsel. As 
these truths flashed before her she buried her face in her 
hands, and slow, scalding tears trickled through her slen- 
der fingers and dropped upon the white spread. What a 
ray of sunshine connected that mother and child, for holy 
as heaven is a mother’s tender love ! It is the love of 
many prayers and tears ; time but strengthens it. It is 
pure, unalloyed, unselfish. It is the only love which in 
this teeming earth asks no more. 

********** 

Dr. St. George walked with hasty steps toward his 
dwelling. When he reached the front steps he paused for a 
moment, and then walked round to the back of the house 
and ascended the back steps to his wife’s chamber and en- 
tered unnoticed. What a spectacle presented itself to his 
sight. The mother of his child kneeling over her baby, 
bathing its face in her tears, and that baby laughing and 
frolicing as hilariously as if it was taking a warm shower 
bath, and had never known an hour of baby-grief. This 
was too much for him. A man can stand any thing but 
a woman’s tears. He knelt down beside her and gently 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 5 

raised her head and said, in a low, measured tone, indica- 
tive of suppressed emotion : 

“What is the matter with my darling? What are all 
these tears for, mamma?” 

“Nothing, dear,” said she, drying her eyes with baby’s 
dress. “I was only feeling sad.” 

“Only feeling sad?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What made you feel sad, darling? Is there any thing 
troubling you ? ” 

“No, dear; nothing. Perhaps it is foolish of me, but 
I have felt all day that some great sorrow was going to 
befall us in some way. I have a presentiment of it, and 
I never felt as I do now — never! I can not account for it, 
unless it is my bad health, for nothing can happen to us, 
surely, Robert. Nothing that is very bad, do you think?” 

“No, darling,” said he, drawing her closer to his 
bosom. Nothing shall ever come to mar one single hour 
of your happiness if I can help it, and you must not make 
any more mountains to climb, for I am afraid you will 
never be able to climb them by your little self, and have 
baby to carry too. Now promise me that you wont be 
foolish again, nor shed any more tears. Will you promise, 
dear?” 

“Yes,” was the faint reply. “But why did you come 
up the back steps?” 

“Why just to catch you crying, and baby laughing at 


1 6 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

you. You have no idea what a spectacle you two made; ” 
and he stooped down and imprinted a kiss upon the lips 
of the laughing baby as two little hands made an attempt 
to grasp his whiskers. “That is right, baby,” said he,, 
“always laugh at mamma when she makes mountains and 
cries over them ” 

“Our nurse has come, Robert,” said she, as they 
walked out upon the veranda. 

“And do you think you will like her?” asked he, look- 
ing down inquiringly into her face. 

“I don’t like her much, Robert,” said she; “but I sup- 
pose it ’s only another silly whim, and perhaps I may like 
her after all. She seems to love the baby very much.” 

“I am sorry you are disappointed, but perhaps you 
will like her after you become better acquainted; but I 
have argued that first impressions are always best. If you 
don’t like her, dear,” he continued, “ Mr. Wellington, my 
lawyer, says he knows of one he is sure that we can get, 
and he recommended her very highly to me.” 

“Perhaps we had better take this one,” she said, after 
a few minutes’ deliberation. I think I will try to like her, 
because she loves the baby, and the little thing seemed to 
take to her immediately,” she continued, smiling. 

“And you think you will keep her?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I hope you wont have cause to regret it,” said 
he;” and he related to her the conversation he had had 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 7 

with his lawyer that evening with regard to her going in 
company with Judge Holliday, that he might remain until 
after court. “Only one week, dear, ” he continued, “and 
then I will start immediately.” 

To this proposition she consented, but in her heart she 
felt sadly disappointed at not having her husband with her 
as she anticipated ; but for fear of making him feel badly 
(and woman like) she concealed her real feelings from him 
with the shadow of a smile. 

A good wife is to a man wisdom, strength, and courage. 
A bad one is confusion, weakness, and despair. No con- 
dition is hopeless to a man that possesses a good wife — one 
that is possessed with firmness, decision, and economy. 
Man is strong, but his heart is not adamant. He needs a 
a tranquil home, and especially if he is an intelligent man, 
with whole head, he needs its moral force in the conflict of 
life. To recover his composure, home must be a place of 
peace and comfort. There his soul renews its strength 
and goes forth with renewed vigor to encounter the labors 
and troubles of life. But if at home he finds no rest, and 
there is met with bad temper, jealousy, and gloom, or 
assailed with complaints or censure, hope vanishes and he 
sinks into despair. 

********** 

It was ten o’clock when the great iron steed thundered 
up to the railway depot, puffing and blowing as if the mon- 
ster were tired out, and there it stood still panting. 


1 8 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

“ But now unheard, I saw afar 
His cloud of windy mane ; 

Now, level as a blazing star, 

He thunders thro’ the plain. 

“ The life he needs, the food he loves, 

This cold earth bears no more ; 

He fodders on the eternal groves 
That heard the dragons roar. 

“ Strong with the feast, he roars and runs, 
And in his maw unfurled 
Evolves the folded fire of suns 
That lit a grander world. 

“ Disdainful from his fiery jaws 
He snorts his vital heat ; 

And easy as his shadow draws, 
Longdrawn, the living street.” 


The train that evening was an hour late, and the little 
party for the springs had grown impatient, all save two, 
and to them time was like the locomotive which*would 
soon separate them. 

After securing a sleeping-car for his little family, and 
assuring his wife that he would be with them as soon as 
business would permit him, he kissed her and baby good- 
bye. For a moment her arms clung around his neck and 
her head rested upon his bosom, which had been its rest- 
ing place for eighteen months, little dreaming that it would 
be the last time her head would rest there in life. Only a 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


19 


moment, and the signal-bell sounded ! Another moment, 
and the train was lost to view, dashing through the midnight 
blackness. 

The travelers were soon tucked away, each in his berth, 
and oblivion closed their eyes to the headlong career of the 
iron steed that seemed to lead them to destruction. But 
there were two, at least, that refused this sweet nectar. 
One, the schemer and plotter of a hideous crime; the 
other, the victim. 

For a long time Mrs. St. George lay tossing upon her 
sleepless couch, trying in vain to banish the sad and 
gloomy forebodings that assailed her pillow, and .to find 
rest in a haven of sleep ; but she could not sleep, and she 
arose and drew back the curtain and sat gazing out va- 
cantly into the shadows with fixed and fascinated eyes, 
watching the. gloomy hills and the black, mysterious woods 
that seemed to her as if their density shrouded nameless 
horrors. Then watching the tall, dark, motionless trees 
that seemed to stand like specter-sentinels stretching out 
their long arms beside the line, watching the wayside sta- 
tions where the men waited to wave aloft the light that 
was the signal of safety, and where with a shrill shriek 
cutting the pall of smoke, and without a pause or an 
instant’s slackening the iron monster tore past in a storm 
of thunder and fire— the red sparks flying and flashing up 
in showers from the glowing wheels. It was now twelve 
o’clock, but sleep refused to comfort this weary traveler 


20 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


until overcome by exhaustion she dropped into a feverish, 
troubled slumber. The light from the lamp shone upon 
her pale, white face, and the long, silken lashes lay heavily 
upon her tear-stained cheeks. Now and then a deep, 
heavy sigh escaped her lips, and once a dry sob shook her 
frame as if she were again passing through the painful 
ordeal of separation. But gradually the traces of emotion 
disappeared, and that marvelous peace which is found only 
in the countenances of children or on the faces of the 
dead settled like a benediction over her features. Once 
she was aroused by the cry of her baby, which the nurse 
had in charge, and who occupied a berth opposite hers, 
but it was only for a moment, and both mother and infant 
were again sleeping the sleep of innocence. 

It was two o’clock then the train stopped for water and 
fuel, and a woman with a fiendish smile playing round 
her mouth, stealthily drew aside the curtain, and with a 
cat-like tread walked out upon the platform at the rear 
of the car. She looked cautiously around her. No one 
observed her now, and the baby was sleeping quietly in 
her arms. “My time now,” said she with a chuckle, and 
with this she leaped with the bound of a tiger and disap^- 
peared in the dark woods, hugging close to her breast the 
sleeping infant. Again the signal-bell sounded and the 
train sped on, unmindful of the distance it was putting 
between mother and child. 

And that mother, all unconscious of the fearful leap of 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


21 


her wandering babe, slept on, though her spirit was 
with her darling, for in her wild, feverish dreams she 
stretched out her arms to catch it as she saw it fall from a 
high precipice and dashed upon the rocks below. In her 
exertions she awoke, bathed in a cold perspiration, and for 
some moments was too weak and exhausted to speak. 
Presently she drew aside the curtain and called the nurse, 
but no answer came, and thinking both nurse and baby 
were asleep she fell back upon her pillow and moaned. 
"That was a dreadful dream,” she murmured; "but it is 
so foolish of me to worry over dreams when I know that 
my darling is so near me and is sleeping so sweetly.” 
And she imagined she could hear its peaceful, low breath- 
ing, and hear it laughing in its sleep, and cooing to the 
angels as they hovered around it and let their fingers 
wander through its shining hair. 

All was quiet and peaceful within save the gentle foot- 
steps of the night-watch, and the heavy breathing of the 
weary travelers. Without, the roaring of the train, and 
the keen whistle of the engine as it plowed through the 
darkened woods and wound around the rugged mountain 
sides. Now and then a far-off roll of thunder faintly shook 
the hills until the heavens, riven by sheets of flame, thrilled 
with ominous echoes and zigzag lightning whirled down 
the murky sky. A storm was threatening darkly, but 
the storm-king had compassion upon the little wander- 
ing babe and hung out his flag of peace, and the stars 


22 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


stepped forth at the command of their gentle queen, and 
burned like altar candles around the throne of God, until 
the sweet red light of Aurora relieved the shining host of 
their faithful vigil, and placed her flaming banner in the 
east, as a signal for the coming of the day-god. Its rosy 
light fell into the rapidly-moving car and cast a glow over 
the drapery and upon the carpet. 

It was now six o’clock, and the travelers were still 
sleeping, and the morning sun was streaming through the 
glass doors, its golden rays striking, in discordant bril- 
liancy, between the closely-drawn curtains, and dancing in 
dazzling gleams on the floor as gayly as though no tragedy 
had been enacted between its setting and its rising. Mrs. 
St. George arose and went feebly to her nurse’s bed in 
order to imprint a morning kiss upon her sleeping babe, 
but to her horror the bed was empty and the nurse and 
infant nowhere to be found. She called, but no answer 
came; she searched for them, but in vain. Her babe was 
gone; no loving blue eyes looked up into her own ; no 
cooing laughter fell upon her ear; her darling, her life was 
gone. Then the fearful vision flashed before her ; she was 
warned in her dreams, but too late ; and as one stricken 
by a heavy blow she threw up her hands and fell to the 
floor. A stifled moan and a ring of blood told where the 
dagger had pierced — the same dagger, grief, which has 
pierced the hearts of thousands, and which seldom kills, 
unless it strikes the vital chord ; it rankles and burns in 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


23 


the heart until it ceases to beat, and cuts and festers, little 
by little, until the victim cries for mercy in the sweet arms 
of death. The same sunlight that stole in through the 
closed curtains and kissed her sleeping brow now fell upon 
her prostrate form and touched, as if in a cruel mockery, 
with one bright ray the stained and matted hair it used to 
gild so gayly. She was carried by gentle hands to a 
country inn, where she was cared for until her husband 
arrived. Dr. St. George brought with him two of the best 
physicians in the city, and every effort was made to save 
her life, but to no avail ; a blood-vessel had been broken, 
and the grim angel of death bore away victory’s crown, 
and the fond husband of eighteen months had to yield up 
his treasure to be the bride of Death. 

“Iam dying, kiss me, darling,” were the feeble words 
that came from her trembling lips. 

I am dying ; kiss me darling, 

Kiss me once before we part ; 

Let your arms entwine me fondly, 

Lay your head upon my heart. 

I am dying ; kiss me darling, 

While my eyes are free from tears ; 

Let your arms entwine me fondly, 

Gently as in other years. 

I am dying ; kiss me darling, 

It will soothe my fevered brow ; 

Kiss me once before we part, 

For my Saviour calls me now. 


24 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


I am dying, darling, dying, 

Though to-day I’m fever-flushed, 

Pale will be my cheeks to-morrow, 

And my pleadings will be hushed. 

I am dying; kiss me, darling, 

Ere my lips in death doth freeze ; 

For the angels now are coming, 

I see their pinions ride the breeze. 

I am dying, darling, dying, 

Move me nearer to the door, 

Raise the window, ope the shutter, 

And let me see the sun once more. 

Now kiss me, darling, once again, 

Quickly, it will soon be o’er, 

Press my hand, I can not see, 

One more pang and all is o’er. 

“I am dying,” she said, “and will never see my baby 
again in this world ; but if mothers in heaven are per- 
mitted to look down upon their children on earth, my mis- 
sion will ever be to watch over our lost darling. And 
before I go, Robert, promise me that you will never cease 
to look for our child as long as there is life. And if you 
ever find her, talk to her of me when she grows older, 
and tell her how I died, and guard her as you would your 
life. And, Robert,” said she in a hoarse voice, “let me 
die in your arms, darling?” 

She laid her head upon his breast, and looked up at 
him with the sweet content of a little child. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 25 

“ It is hard to die so young, Robert," said she, gently; 
4 4 to die, to leave you and baby. I have been so happy 
with you, Robert, so happy with you, darling ; and now I 
must leave you." 

“ O ! my darling wife, my angel, how am I to bear this?" 

The white hands softly clasped his own. 

“You must bear it," she said, “for baby’s sake. I 
know you will miss me; but you will find our darling, and 
you will have something to live for. But, I know you 
will love me always, Robert. Now kiss me, darling, I am 
dying." 

He raised her gently in his arms and pressed his lips to 
hers, her head with its pretty gold coil fell back upon his 
shoulder, and beneath his own he felt her lips grow cold 
and still. Presently he heard one long, deep-drawn sigh. 
Her pure spirit had fled, and her last words were, “Kiss 
me, darling." 

Some one raised the beautiful head from his breast and 
laid it back upon the pillow. The snowy eyelids drooped 
over the azure orbs, and the long, dark, curling lashes 
rested on the pale cheeks. He knew she was his no 
more. 

‘ ‘ Heaven help me ! " he cried. He tried to bear it. The 
words of his dying wife rang in his ears, 4 4 Bear it for 
baby’s sake." He tried to rise, but his strength was 
gone ; and with a cry never to be forgotten by those who 
heard it, Dr. St. George fell with his face to the floor. 


26 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


The sun of another day had risen, waking the earth to 
its toils, and the children to their plays, lifting the drooped 
bells of the flowers, and rousing the butterflies to flutter 
in its golden light, giving back to the birds their song, to 
the waters their sparkle, to the blue seas their laughing ; 
bringing to all the world its resurrection from the silence 
and gloom of night. It fell in shining showers upon the 
floor ; its golden beams touched the beautiful white face so 
still and solemn in death, and crept among her glossy ring- 
lets. But though its light touched her cheeks to warmth 
and her hair to gold, it had no spell to awake. 

“ O, death where is thy sting ? 

O, grave where is thy victory?” 

Kind strangers closed the violet eyes and brushed 
back the golden ringlets. Some one gathered some beau- 
tiful white hyacinths and laid them around her pillow, so 
that she looked like a marble bride on a bed of flowers. 
Death wore no stern aspect there ; the agony and the tor- 
ture, the dread and fears were all gone — all forgotten. 
There was nothing but the sweet smile of one at perfect 
rest. 

Dr. St. George, still crushed by his great grief, lay upon 
a couch in the next room ; not a tear fell from his burning 
eyes ; he could not weep ; his eyes were dry and burning. 
Could he have wept, tears would have brought some relief 
to his aching heart. 

“ I can not believe it,” he said ; “ or believing can not 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 2/ 

realize it. That she, who only a few short hours ago walked 
smilingly by my side, life of my life, soul of my soul, has 
gone from me forever, and that I shall see her no more ! 
I can not, I will not believe it ! I shall hear her calling for 
me directly, or she will come smiling into the room with 
baby in her arms, and lay it in my lap. Baby ! ” he said, 
with a startled cry, as he arose from the lounge with a wild 
expression upon his face, as if he had just realized the sad 
truth of his lost baby. So poignant was his grief for his 
dying wife it seemed impossible to add another drop to his 
cup of woe; but when he mentioned his baby, it seemed 
to arouse him to a sense of his duty, and the words of his 
dying wife rang in his ears. “ Where is my child ! ” he 
said, rising and walking the room. 4 4 Heaven help me to 
find it ! ” he continued ; “ help me to fulfill my promise to 
that angel mother who is now watching over it! ” 

The kind doctor was too wise to make any endeavor to 
stem such a torrent of grief. He knew it must have its 
sway. He sat patiently listening, speaking when he 
thought a word would be useful. Presently St. George 
arose and went up to look at his wife, and, kneeling by her 
side, Nature’s great comforter came to him. He wept 
tears that eased the burning brain and lightened the heavy 
heart. The physician permitted them to flow and made 
no effort to stop them. He looked with infinite pity on the 
tired face. What a storm ; what a tempest of grief 
had this man passed through. The bereaved man was 


28 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


frantic in his grief, mad with the sense of his loss. The 
doctor knowing how one great sorrow counteracts another, 
spoke of his stolen child ; reminded him that if he wished 
to find his baby he must take some care of himself. 
“ Your grief is poignant,” said he; “but I believe you 
are a strong man, a brave man, and in grief of this kind 
the first great thing is to regain self control.” 

Mrs. St. George was taken back to her beautiful home 
and laid to rest beneath the shadows of the elm trees, and 
the tall gray spire of the church arose in the distance like 
a finger pointing to heaven. And thus 

They left her silent and alone, 

Snatched ruthlessly away from her beautiful home, 

To sleep the grand sleep, so solemn, so still, 

In her little clay house by the side of the hill. 


CHAPTER II. 


A WAIL OF GRIEF IN THE CITY OF THE DEAD. 

Twilight was winging her noiseless way from heaven to 
wrap the temple of the dead in her soft, transparent dra- 
pery when I wandered into the cemetery of Cave Hill to 
muse upon the fading loveliness of the setting sun and 
upon the holy memories of the departed. It was one of 
those sweet days in May, when it seems impossible to be- 
lieve in any thing but what is good and true and beautiful, 
when the dewdrops and flowers and the sunset take our 
hearts and thoughts to heaven, where all is light, all is 
beauty, all is love; a region of mellowed bliss. The sun 
had sunk to rest behind the distant hills, and the gentle 
queen had unfurled her silvery banner and it was floating 
gently and solemnly over the moss-covered graves, making 
luminous the white sculptured marble, and the stars looked 
down in holy tranquility upon the silent scene. 

Silence prevailed in this great city of the dead. It was 

decoration-day, and the people of L had spared neither 

‘money nor labor in bestowing memorial gifts upon the 
graves of the dead. From every slab hung wreathes and 
festoons of the most exquisite flowers, and the dark-green 


30 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

ivy trailed itself along upon the gently-curved mound and 
seemed to whisper in its silent language to the gallant dead 
below. 

I was fond of symbolizing. Every inanimate thing had 
its type in some ideal or oriental fancy. This evening I 
felt particularly poetical. My imagination was as fertile — 
yes, I thought as fertile, as Milton’s, if my thoughts were 
not so grand or my images so sublime. I sauntered care- 
lessly along, stopping now and then to read an inscription 
or inhale the perfume of a favorite flower. Suddenly I 
paused before a beautiful lot, its tiny silver fountain bub- 
bling up and breaking into white sprays that glittered like 
hoar-frost in the gentle twilight. I sat me down beneath 
a beautiful spreading beech and took out my note-book 
and pencil, and there in the peaceful solitude of the dead 
I traced upon its pages the thoughts that were uppermost 
in my mind; for the sweet, tranquil, lonesome, voiceless, 
resting-place of the silent dead and its surroundings had 
stirred my enthusiasm for this peaceful abode of quietude 
and rest caused me to meditate, wondering where my little 
mansion of clay would be erected. As I was a citizen of 
the world, with no permanent home of my own, I felt 
uncertain in what quarter of the globe I would be laid. I 
knew that I was entitled to a spot, six by four, somewhere 
in the broad domain of our beautiful land, where I would 
be laid as peacefully and gently to rest as those who then 
were sleeping their last sleep beneath roses and moss- 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


31 


covered mounds. But was there one of this vast creation 
that would shed a tear or plant one single flower upon my 
lonely grave. So in this state of mind I wrote the follow- 
ing lines : 

There is a spot somewhere for me, 

And I ’ve often wondered where it will be. 

A little spot, just six by four — 

I mean a grave, and nothing more. 

Perhaps beneath some woodland shade 
My lonely bed will there be made, 

Where the wounded deer will stop and sigh, 

Fall on my grave, and bleed and die. 

Perhaps I *11 in some graveyard sleep 
With a marble slab at my head and feet. 

A little rose-bush may near me stand, 

And a flower may drop from a stranger’s hand. 

Perhaps I ’ll in some churchyard lie 
With spire reaching to the sky; 

Or in some beautiful garden fair — 

Perhaps, O, perhaps it will be there. 

Though it matters not where’er I’m laid, 

Let the willow be my only shade, 

That its silver branches may o’er me wave 
And weep in silence o’er my grave. 

I know for me it will breathe a sigh, 

And weep when other’s tears are dry; 

Weep when the morning sun is bright, 

Weep in the folding glooms of night. 


32 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


Weep when blushing flowers bloom, 

Filling earth with their sweet perfume ; 

Weep when the laughing waters meet 
To ripple at their rosy feet. 

Weep when the shades of evening fall 
Like to the folding of a pall ; 

Weep when the dew is on the rose, 

And never sleep while I repose. 

thunder or the rustling of the leaves or the 
the whippoorwill, 

Every sound that breaks the silence 
Only makes it more profound, 

Like a crash of deaf ning thunder 
In the sweet, blue stillness round. 

Let the soul walk softly in thee 
As a saint in heaven unshod ; 

For to be alone with silence 
Is to be alone with God. 

“ Voice of silence, thou art speaking 
From the places of the past 
On whose old memoric windows 
Faces full of life are cast, 

Where the King of Thought enthroned 
Like a star on midnight’s peak, 

Rules the world with silent spirits 

Who, though being dead, yet speak.” 

The walks were shaded by dark-green arborvitae and 
low, whispering cedars, and the tall elm trees stretched 
out their gnarled arms and leafy hands, hushing the world 


Distant 
whistle of 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


33 


down for the sweet, still benediction of the soft, stealing 
winds sweeping among the graceful ferns and nestling- 
violets and over the velvet moss with noiseless tread. 

Presently I looked around me, and for the first time 
perceived that’ it was night. The fair queen with her 
maids of honor, was sitting upon her silver throne, ruling 
the world with her bright scepter, making luminous the 
.nocturnal clouds and changing them into a bed of silver. 
The sweet olive blossoms lay scattered upon the green 
grass, and were like little tracts from heaven, dropped by 
the fingers of the fairies. The gentle dews were falling, 
and the flowers that had been plucked by gentle hands to 
die beneath the scorching rays of the sun raised their 
drooping heads in grateful acknowledgment of the rich 
blessing; and as if in return for Vesper’s gracious gift, 
they sent forth their fragrant perfume, broadcast over the 
the land, wave after wave, until the very air was fragrant 
with their dying breath. The birds were nestling in the 
treetops, and as each one tucked his tiny head beneath his 
wing he seemed to say, Buenos noc/ies , Senorita. So ab- 
sorbed was I in my poetical thoughts, I heeded not the 
fleeting hours, nor the deepening shades of night, until 
a low, smothering sob fell upon my ear. “Every heart 
has its sorrows,” said I, rising to take my departure. 

It was my intention to leave as quietly as possible, that 
I might not disturb the mourner, who had evidently 
sought this hour that he might be free from all watching 


34 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


eyes; where he could fling himself upon the grave of his 
loved one, and moan and cry aloud against his fate, unseen 
and unheard, with only the friendly twilight, and the stars 
of heaven, and the birds of the air to overhear him. I 
turned my head and directed my eyes to the spot whence 
the sound came, but not through idle curiosity to see a 
fellow creature suffer ; but to suffer with him, to feel and 
to sympathize, for there floated back upon the tide of my 
memory scenes of by-gone years. A face, a form, that 
was as dear to me, and that I had seen laid as low as the 
one for whom he was pouring out his grief. 

I too hacl wept as he was weeping, 

I too had felt what he was feeling. 

I saw before me a new-made grave over which the 
autumn leaves had never fallen nor. the spring flowers 
bloomed. 

Somebody’s darling had wandered away, 

Beneath the cold sod she was buried that day ; 

Somebody’s darling was sweetly sleeping 
As somebody o’er her grave was weeping. 

Upon the grave was two beautiful wreathes of pure 
white lilies ; in the center was an exquisite cross of tube 
roses, which were breaking their rich, sweet hearts upon 
the dewy air. 

Kneeling by the grave was a young man with clenched 
hands and bowed form, and bosom heaving with choking 
sobs as if his soul were taking its departure. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


35 


“O, my darling!” he exclaimed, “If mothers in 
heaven are permitted to look down upon their children on 
earth, I know you will watch over our lost, lost baby.” 

Then as if some heavy weight were pressing his spirit 
and crushing out his very life, he stretched out his hands 
as if to grasp something for support and fell senseless upon 
the grave. The strength of his manhood was gone. He 
had fainted and lay as cold and as rigid as the one over 
whom he had been weeping. I ran over to the next lot 
and picked up a large shell and filled it with water from 
the fountain, that I had watched with so much interest, 
and hastened to him. I raised his head, and with my ’ker- 
chief bathed his face and temples in the cool water, which 
soon restored him to consciousness. 

“ Did I faint?” said he, raising his grateful eyes to my 
own. 

“Yes,” said I, “you fainted, you seem to be very 
weak. I saw you fall,” I continued, “and came to your 
assistance; I hope you are feeling much better now.” 

“You are very kind, ” said he, “but it would have 
been far better for me if you had let me die.” 

“Perhaps it is not God’s will that you should die,” I 
replied, “perhaps he has some mission for you to perform 
before it would please him to take you ; besides we are 
not put into this world to remain until it should please us 
to leave it ; we do not hold our destinies in our own hands, 
if we did the world would soon be demolished, and our 


36 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


beautiful world would be transformed into a pandemo- 
nium.” 

“ Ah,” said he, shaking his head mournfully, “ I have 
no desire to live any longer ; I have nothing in this world 
to live for now, and to me, at least, the world is not beau- 
tiful, it has lost its charms, and my whole life seems a 
blank, for my spirit is broken, and my heart is crushed 
and bleeding, and beneath this mound of clay lies buried 
ail my joys, my hopes, and my aspirations. When I laid 
the darling of my bosom to rest beneath this sod — too 
cold for a soul so warm and true — there I buried my heart 
also. There is nothing left but its dead, white ashes, en- 
cased in a shattered frame. If I could weep perhaps it 
would be some relief, but I can not ; my grief is too deep 
for tears.” 

“ I am sorry for you,” said I, “ and wish it were in my 
power to alleviate your distress. Is there nothing that I 
can do for you?” I asked, laying my hand gently upon 
his shoulder; “if there is, do not hesitate to tell me. I 
know that I am a stranger to you, but not to sorrow. I 
have been rocked in that cradle from my infancy, and have 
traversed every foot-path, and well can I sympathize with 
you, for it is only those who have drunk deeply of the cup 
that can melt at the sigh of another’s sorrow. Besides I 
have often seen the stranger pour balm upon the wound 
inflicted by friendship’s hand.” 

I said this, little dreaming that the poisonous arrow 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


37 


which had pierced the heart of this sorrow-stricken man, 
and had left it torn and bleeding, had come direct from the 
hand of friendship. 

Philosophers have preached and vowed that human life 
is the simplest compound except clear water, and I have 
been very desirous of discovering the mysteries of our 
being and our will ; but alas ! what have I gained ? A 
•clouded genius and an aching brain. And to-night, as I 
sit alone in my chamber pondering perplexing questions 
and tangled problems that mother Nature has set before 
her truant children that weep upon her indulgent and ma- 
ternal breast, there arises thoughts, like nymphs from their 
caves when sets the sun, that I endeavor to crush out from 
my mind, and I raise my eyes to heaven, the throne of 
truth, and ask these questions : 

Tell me, O fair queen of night, 

With your glittering, twinkling train, 

Is it true, as Goldsmith says, 

That friendship’s “but a name ? ” 

Know ye one that has never 
Loved and believed ? 

Know ye one that has never 
Trusted and been deceived ? 

Do hearts on earth e’er love 
With feeling that will last ? 

Do passions ever come 

That are not swiftly passed ? 


4 


3 « 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


O tell me, gentle breezes. 

As you kiss the smitten cheek, 

Do you not detect with sadness, 

Some traces of deceit ? 

As if in answer to my appeal the glorious queen hid 
her face for shame behind a cloud, and the bright constel- 
lations, one by one, stepped from their silver thrones, and 
the wind moaned, and the clouds shed tears of sorrow for 
poor fallen humanity. Then my eyes fell to earth, and I 
appealed to the terrestrial : 

O, tell me, lofty mountains, 

Are joys not all as fleet 
As sparkling gems of sunshine 
That pla}’ around thy feet ? 

O, tell me, surging billows, 

That rock the mighty deep, 

Did e’er a heart, tried and true, 

Upon thy bosom sleep ? 

Tell me, maiden, has there e’er 
A sunbeam round thee played, 

That did not take a darker hue 
And creep into the shade? 

And when you join the mad’ning throng, 

And yield to passion’s power, 

Would you not be happier still 
In some quiet, peaceful bower? 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


Tell me, O, loving hearts, 

Doth not the mind oft see 

The love that is thy life 
Turn silently from thee? 

O, tell me, Queen of the Flowers, 

Is yours a happy band ? 

Do you ever have contention 
To mar your fairy land ? 

Do you ever hear them gossip, 

And tell their idle tales. 

Upon some sister flower 

Who tried to bloom and failed ? 

Does not the haughty dahlia, 

Look down with jealous eye 

’Pon the little blue-eyed daisy, 

As she modestly nestles by ? 

And the aristocratic fuchsia 
With anger shake her bell 

To see the yellow daffodil 
Sprout near her little dell ? 

O, tell me, King of the forest, 

With your happy feathery tribe, 

Do you ever catch them flirting 

With their next-door neighbor’s bride 

O, tell me, warbling songsters, 

As you sing from spray to spray, 

Do you ever have discord, 

To spoil your pretty lay ? 


40 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


O, tell me, priests and parsons, 

Who bow for us in prayer, 

Did you ever in your closet find 
A skeleton hidden there ? 

Excuse my interrogations, 

And pardon my dubious lay, 

For misery seeks for company, 

I’ve often heard them say. 

“You are very kind,” said the young man, “and you 
must excuse me for forgetting to thank you ; I am but a 
stranger, as you say, and yet a sister could not have done 
more than you have done.” 

“Please don’t thank me,” said I, “for I have only 
done my duty, and I have done nothing more than you 
would have done for me had I been in your place, and I 
only wish I could do more to alleviate your distress. ” 

“That is out of the power of human,” said he mourn- 
fully. ‘ ‘ In my short life a great sorrow has fallen upon me, 
greater than falls to the lot of most people, and there are 
-only two ways to meet it; one to bow my head in low 
submission, and the other to spend the remainder of my 
wretched life in hunting down the abductor of my child, 
and the murderer of my wife ; I say murderer, for had it 
not been for that she would now be living.” 

“Then you are Dr. St. George, the father of the ab- 
ducted child of whom I read in the Courier-Journal this 
morning,” said I. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


41 


He nodded his head in assent, and for the first time I 
saw a tear tremble upon his lids. 

“I suppose you have detectives at work,” I asked, 
after there had been silence for some minutes. 

“Yes,” he answered; “men of indomitable pluck and 
courage, but I have no hopes of ever recovering her.” 

“What a pity it is a girl,” said I, all unaware of the 
effect my words would produce, until the pent-up tears 
that had been struggling for liberation no longer concealed 
themselves, but streamed down his cheeks in torrents. j 
bowed my head in my hands, and my own tears, that had 
been standing like sentinels, leaped forth, and I cried as I 
have not done since I was a child. But they were only 
a woman’s tears, and I had shed thousands of them before, 
and I had been accustomed to them from the first hour I 
came into the world up to the present moment. But to 
see tears streaming from the eyes of a man was something 
I had not been accustomed to, and it touched my heart as 
it had not been for years. What bitter grief, what un- 
utterable sorrow it must have been to wring such tears 
from his heart ! I let them flow, and I did not try to stop 
them ; for words, like tears, will bring relief, and I had no 
consolation to offer; but after his grief had somewhat sub- 
sided, I said, “Dr. St. George, I believe that you will 
one day find your child, but it will depend upon your ex- 
ertions and patience, but mostly upon the state of your 
mind ; and if you don’t try to brace yourself up to go 


42 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


through this trying ordeal, and not give way to your feel- 
ings, your mind will become impaired, and then you will 
not be adequate to the task before you, and all traces of 
your child will be lost; and should she live you don't know 
what vile hands she may fall into, nor what her lot may 
be, for this is a vile world. Now, for the sake of your 
little one, and for the pleasure of that one in heaven who 
is now smiling upon her lost baby, and is ever watching- 
over it, forget your own sorrows and bear up bravely, 
and trust in Him who ‘watches every sparrow that falleth 
to the ground.’ You will one day find your child. Who- 
ever has abducted it has evidently adopted this plan to 
obtain money from you.” 

When he raised his face it was so changed I hardly 
knew it. The white pallor had all disappeared, and the 
hot blood was coursing wildly through his veins, and his 
face seemed to acquire a new expression. I saw lines of 
firm endurance, of patient gravity, self-control, and self- 
restraint deepening thereon. 

“I thank you, my friend, ” said he, extending his hand, 
“I thank you for uttering your sentiments so frankly, for 
you have spoken truthfully, and every word that you have 
said has already been in my serious thoughts ; but you 
have arou'sed me to a sense of my duty as no one else 
ever has. I will take your advice, and if I never find my 
child it shall not be for the lack of manhood, energy, and 
perseverance. I will not leave one stone unturned.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


43 


“May God crown your efforts with success,” I said, 
“and may your child and your happiness be restored. 
‘This will ever be my prayer ; and if I can be of any service 
to you in any way I hope you will not hesitate to tell 
me so.” 

“Thank you,” said he, “and I assure you that I will 
not hesitate one ' moment, for I believe that I have found 
in you a warm and valuable friend.” 

We had been walking slowly along, for he was too weak 
to walk fast, and had just reached the cemetery gate when 
a cab passed, and he motioned for it to stop ; then turning 
to me he said, “ Allow me to take you home, as it is too 
dark for a lady to go so far alone at this hour. Your sym- 
pathetic heart has been the cause of your delay, and I feel 
that you were sent to me as a blessing ; but you have not 
told me your name yet? ” 

“ I am only a stranger in the city,” said I, “and — 

‘ ‘ But you have a name ? ” 

“My name is Lilian Ainsley,” said I, blushing, for i 
always had an aversion to telling my name, and as it hap- 
pened, I had no cards with me at that time. 

We entered the cab after giving the order, and it was 
not long before we were reined up in front of the hotel 
where I was stopping. Dr. St. George made a motion to 
assist me, but I laid my hand upon his arm and said, 
“You will please remain in the cab, the driver will assist 
me. ” 


44 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

He seemed to understand me, and remained in the cab. 

In my short life I have learned, perhaps, more of the 
ways of the world than most persons of my age. I have 
seen that hideous monster every one is familiar with — 
in all shapes, size, and color. Old green-eyed gossip, with 
forked tongue, cloven feet, standing at every corner, stalk- 
ing up and down upon the highway; from the halls of the 
wealthy to the hovels of the lowly; and even into the 
aisles of the churches and through the adamantine walls 
of the prisons, and I knew he was not far off, and if he 
saw Dr. St. George riding with a young lady on the same 
day his wife was buried he would smile the smile that old 
Satan smiled behind the tree when Eve partook of the ap- 
ple. But I cheated him by not permitting that gentleman 
to hand me out of the carriage. And I shall always feel 
more kindly toward Madam Eve for having presence of 
mind enough to take a good bite of the apple before Adam 
gobbled it all up, and thereby transmitting a small portion 
of knowledge to her fair descendants. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE PHANTOM OF THE NIGHT, OR THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER ► 

After bidding Dr. St. George good-by I went to my room 
and made a hasty toilet for supper and then descended to 
the dining-room ; not that I wanted any thing to eat, for 
I was not hungry, but simply to pass off the time that 
hung heavily upon my hands. I could not read, I could 
not sleep, I could do nothing but wonder and wonder and 
wonder, and finally I found myself in a wonderful stew. 
I took my accustomed seat at the table and looked around 
the well-filled salon bajo , and, as I did so, thinks I to my- 
self, if every one feels as little like eating as I do the 
landlord would not have to incur the expenses of another 
bill of fare for breakfast the next morning, but my con- 
jecture in behalf of the landlord was to no purpose ; every 
one seemed to enjoy the full benefit of his dinero , and 
laughed and jested with as much hilarity as if a fellow 
creature’s heart was not bursting with grief only a few 
rods off. After taking my un tay de cafe I again sought 
my mi cuarto, which seemed almost too small to hold me. 
I felt depressed and restless, and, after promenading my 
room for several minutes I threw myself in an easy chair 

(45) 


46 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


and tried to compose my feelings and collect my scattered 
thoughts, all unaware that Morpheus was hovering over 
me until he had me securely in his embrace. Again I was 
wandering in the city of the dead. Again I stood by the 
newly-made grave, but a different spectacle presented 
itself to my visionary sight. Instead of the bowed form 
of a mourner, there was a beautiful infant cradled upon the 
yellow mound, smiling and cooing. I hastened to take it 
in my arms, but before I reached the spot a large eagle 
swooped down and gathered it in its claws and flew away. 
I screamed as loud as my vocal chords would permit — 
which awoke me, and I arose and staggered to the door, 
for at that instant I heard a low tap upon my door. 

“Is there any thing I can do for you?” asked the 
chambermaid, staring at me as though she had suddenly 
come in contact with a ghpst. 

“You may bring me a pitcher of aqua frio .” 

‘ ‘ Es muy tarde f ” f 

“ Es temprana to davia. I dropped off to sleep just 
now,” said I, “and I had a fearful dream; and I was afraid 
that I had alarmed the house; for I hollaed loud enough 
to awake the seven sleepers.” 

“ Laus macy, honey,” said the old chambermaid, “ we 
see enough and hear enough these days to make one dream 
bad dreams, see ghosts, and have nightmare.” 

“ Yes, “aunt Jennie,” said I, “you speak truly; fori 
have had some experience in the ways of the world my- 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


47 


self; and to-day I have heard enough to make me doubt 
the world, and believe there is nothing true this side the 
sod.” 

“You have heard about the conduction of Dr. St. 
George’s child, then,” said she. 

“I have heard about the abduction of Dr. St. George’s 
child,” said I. smiling at aunt Jennie’s error, “and I sup- 
pose that is why I had that fearful dream.” 

“ No wonder you dream,” she replied, “ when you are 
in the very same room that old, mean woman slept in the 
night before she stole the child.” 

“Then you have seen her! ” I replied. “ Do sit down 
and tell me all about her; and what was she like?” 

The conversation had become interesting now, and I 
was as much absorbed in aunt Jennie’s tete-a-tete as I ever 
was in Major Penn’s sermons. 

“ Laus, honey, I jest tell you if she didn’t jest look 
like old Satan himself.” 

“Well, well, aunt Jennie,” said 1. laughing, “as I 
have never had the pleasure of meeting ese caballero I can 
not have the faintest idea of what kind of a looking crea- 
ture she is.” 

“ Have you ever seen old John Nailor?” said she, “the 
man who was put in the penitentiary for murder, and broke 
out a few weeks ago. If you have, then you have seen 
her image, for she is the very spirit of him. All the dif- 
ference is, he had short hair that hung like black, greasy 


48 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


strings around his neck, and she had it screwed up in a 
little knot at the back of her head, and wore a gourded 
calico dress.” 

“How long did she remain, aunt Jennie?” said I. 

“Only one night,” she replied. “She got here on the 
nine o’clock train, and left the next morning ; saying she 
was going to nurse for Mrs. St. George, and the next thing 
we heard was that she had run off with the baby.” 

“ Are you sure she was a woman, aunt Jennie ? ” said 
I, feeling somewhat dubious in regard to the sex; “how 
do you know but what it was a man dressed in woman’s 
clothes ? ” I added. 

“ Laus massie, honey, I’m sure it was a woman ; for if 
it want a woman I’m not.” 

“ Why are you so positive, aunt Jennie?” I replied; 
“ a man can disguise himself very easily.” 

“ Because she just talked and talked the whole time I 
was in here, telling me how many dresses she had ; and 
how they were made ; and what they cost ; and how many 
ladies she had nursed for ; and then she tried to put on so- 
many airs, too ; but the funniest thing of all was she had 
on one of those hoop things — what do you call ’um? 
those things that stick out behind ; Lhave forgotten the 
name of ’ufn.” 

“ I suppose it was a tilter, ” said I. 

“That’s it, honey; but she did not know how to sit 
down in it, for she would pick it up and drop it in the 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


49 


chair, and then sit down ; I know it was the first she ever 
had..” 

“ Do you remember what day she came?” said I, try- 
ing to divert her mind if possible from the tilter question, 
and thinking perhaps that she would tell me something 
which would lead to the recovery of the child. 

“ Let me see ! ” said aunt Jennie, squinting up one eye, 
and trying to look wise. “ I think it was the 25th; yes, 
I’m sho’ uv it, for I ’member she wrote a letter dat same 
mornin’ an’ sont me to de offis to ’quire de day uv de 
munt, an’ dey tole me it wuz de twenty-fit.” 

“ Did you take the letter to mail?” I asked. 

“No ma’m, she mailed it hersef, I s’pose.” 

“You did not see the directions, then? ” 

“ No, no, honey ; for I’se one o’dem kind o’ people who 
nebber tends to udder people’s bizness, and dat is why I 
nebber gits in trouble ; an’ when de judgment day comes, 
an’ de dry bones rises, no nigger kin stan’ up an’ bring dat 
sin aginst ole Jinny. But I ’spec you are sleepy, so I will 
go an’ bring yo’ water an’ let you go to bed, po’ chile, fur 
you looks tired.” 

Aunt Jennie pretty soon returned with a pitcher of ice 
water and placed it upon the table, saying, as she left the 
room, “ I hope you won’t hab enny mo’ uv dem bad 
dreams.” 

“ I hope so, too, aunt Jennie,” said I, as I closed the 


door. 


50 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


After looking under the bed, in the wardrobe, behind 
the washstand (which every woman knows is a custom 
peculiar to her sex), I made preparations for retiring. I 
took off my watch and wound it, and was about to lay it 
in the drawer when my eyes fell upon an envelope sealed, 
directed, and stamped. My first impression was that the 
letter had been written by some stranger, and that he had 
gone off and forgotten to mail it, as it was already stamped, 
so I laid it back in the drawer with the intention of drop- 
ping it in the office the next morning, thinking it would 
be an accommodation to the writer, whoever he might be. 
Perhaps it was a letter of importance. I looked at the 
directions upon the back which read as follows : 

<< Mr. H. S. Q., 

“ Cincinnati, 

Ohio. ” 

Nothing but the initials were given. 1 retired, how- 
ever, but the goddess of sleep refused to seal my eyelids 
with her blessed dews, and I arose and opened my port- 
manteau and took out my writing implements with the 
intention of answering a letter that had long been delayed, 
but my brain was not a vassal to my will, and would not 
obey its mandates, and with disgust I laid down my pen 
and picked up a cook-book that had been accidentally left 
in the room, and which acted like a charm upon my sleep- 
ing faculties ; for in the midst of chicken-salad, sponge- 
cakes, and mince pies I passed through the * mystic gate 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


51 


and was soon wandering in flowery meads and pastures 
green. I had not enjoyed this blessed elysium a great 
while when my spirit was driven from this enchanted land 
by an intruder whose abode must have been the infernal 
regions. He was bending over me with his glittering 
snake-eyes, staring down upon me like a streak of fire, and 
I felt his long, bony fingers grasping me around the throat. 
I tried to scream, but could not. I tried to pray, but my 
tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth. “The letter, or 
your life ! ” he growled, as his skinny fingers tightened 
around my throat. 

“ What letter?” I asked as he slackened his grasp. 

“The letter you found in the drawer,” he exclaimed; 
“for that letter contains a secret which, if found out, 
would carry me to the gallows.” 

“ You shall have it with all my heart,” I cried, “ if you 
will only let me go/’ 

He loosened the grasp around my throat, and 1 arose 
and groped my way in the dark until I reached the bureau, 
expecting every minute to be the last. With eager hands 
I pulled open the drawer; but to my horror the letter was 
not there. What was I to do? I knew he would not 
believe me if I told him that I could not find it ; and unless 
I did, I had but a slim chance for my life. I stood for 
some moments trembling from head to foot, and my tem- 
ples were made tributary by the perspiration that flowed 
from every pore. 


52 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


“ I have but a few minutes to wait,” he growled, ‘‘and 
you may depend upon it, that it is either the letter or your 
life.” 

“I can not find it,” said I, trembling with terror, and 
crouching down by the bureau and shutting my eyes in 
order to meet my fate which I knew was close at hand. 
Now and then a blaze of lightning would reveal his hide- 
ous form as he approached me. If I could only holla, 
some one in this great hotel would hear me and come to 
my aid ; but to die alone in the dark by the bloody hands 
of an assassin when surrounded by good people on every 
side, was worse than death itself. But there is an end to 
all things, and there was one to this. So exhausted was I 
there was but precious little strength left for me to make a 
noise ; but finally I succeeded, and gave a yell loud enough 
to awaken the seven sleepers, and which brought me to my 
senses. When I awoke I found myself crouched in one 
corner of the room rubbing my head, which I had nearly 
pulverized against the bureau. But no aunt Jennie came 
this time to chase away the disagreeable feelings that 
always succeed one of these unpleasant mystic revelries ; 
but the most profound happiness stole over my much-ex- 
hausted spirit when I awoke and found it but a dream. 

Dreams are but eddies in the current of the mind, which, 
cut off from reflection’s gentle stream, sometimes play 
strange fantastic tricks. Some of the happiest moments 
of my life have been spent within this mystic gate, walking 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


53 


the shady avenues of dreamland’s shadowy land, and some- 
times transported beyond the shores of time, and hold 
sweet communion with the dear ones who have long since 
trod the journey of life and taken up their abode with the 
blessed. 

’Tis sad to awake from pleasant dreams, 

Into a world of pain. 

O, let my spirit wander back 
To that peaceful land again. 

My heart is sad, my eyes are dim, 

And tears are falling while I write, 

The friends I loved are cold in death, 

And I am sad to-night. 

I am lonely, sadly lonely, 

While the memories thick and fast, 

Shadowy-like they cling around me 
Telling stories of the past. 

I am weary, I am weary, 

While my feeble fingers show 

Long forgotten thoughts and feelings 
Of the faded long ago. 

Eager my fainting spirit waits, 

Rest from toil and pain to win, 

Open to me the dreamland’s gate, 

And let the weary soul pass in. 

To the weary pity show, 

’ Who seek for rest but find despair ; 

5 


54 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


Lift up your head, ye magic gate, 

And let the weary soul pass there. 

In this mystic, shadowy land, 

Let my weary spirit roam ; 

For oft in this enchanted land 

I catch a glimpse of childhood’s home. 

Although it is in ruins laid, 

Its fairest blossoms now are dead, 

Yet still their deep and solemn shade 
Upon the waving grass is shed. 

And often there in dreams I pluck 
Flowers bright and gay ; 

And often there my spirit dwells 
When my frame is far away. 

My Father and I sweet communion hold, 
Though the dark rolling river between us roll. 
There I receive a mother’s kiss 
While passing through this gate of bliss. 

There my mother fondly gaze 

Upon me as in childhood’s days ; 

There my schoolmates crowd around me 
With their long-forgotten plays. 

The multiflora vine in the corner, 

Which embraced the sycamore tree ; 

The rose that blushed in the corner, 

Are all familiar to me. 

As o’er this mystic land I tread, 

The dear old orchard again I greet ; 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


55 


No apples, sure, were ever so red, 

Or tasted half so sweet. 

Then open to me, ye dreamland’s gate, 

1 On shadowy wings let me fly 
To my dear native home, where I long to roam, 

As I did in the days gone by. 

I turned on the gas in order to dispel some of the 
gloom which seemed to pervade my chamber, and walked 
to the window and looked out upon the streets which were 
almost deserted ; for there was a battle in the clouds. 
The king of terror had waged war with the fair queen of 
night, and she had retreated with her shining host leaving 
the world in utter darkness, while grape and canister 
were pelting down from the dark, angry clouds as they 
marshaled themselves for battle. The thunders pealed, 
and the lightning was as one blinding sheet of flame. The 
wind was blowing furiously, hurrying through the streets 
moaning and sobbing mournfully, as if spirits of evil were 
disturbing its boisterous retreat. Now shrieking as if in 
mad despair, dashing the rain in slanting lines against the 
window-panes and threatening with utter destruction the 
gilded signs in front of the stores, which creaked dismally 
as it swept by them. I stood for some moments gazing 
upon the scene, and for a time forgot my unpleasant dream 
until I heard a heavy, slow footstep on the pavement 
below, and looked down just as a man passed and looked 
up at my window. I sprang back behind the curtain as a 


56 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

frightened bird would have crouched from the eyes of a 
hawk. It was the counterpart of the man that I had seen 
in my dreams, and which reminded me of the letter in the 
drawer. 

Think ’s I to myself, if I have never had any curisoity 
to break the seal of that letter I certainly have now, and 
will devolve that indispensable duty upon myself, for there 
is some mystery about it. Then the words of my unwel- 
come visitor seemed to repeat themselves in my ears: 
“That letter contains a secret which, if found out, would 
send me to the gallows.” After fully deciding the ques- 
tion in my mind whether or not I should open the mysteri- 
ous letter, I walked deliberately to the bureau to carry my 
thoughts into execution, for the transparent waters of my 
soul were stirred and troubled never again to know their 
perfect peace until I was in possession of the contents of 
that letter. I opened the drawer and there it lay, all 
unconscious of what I had suffered for its sake, and I felt 
that I, through tribulation, had purchased the right and 
privilege to question its secrecy. So, with this conviction 
I tore open the letter with a conscience as clear as the paper 
•on which I write. I seated myself in the rocking chair 
and- laid my hand upon my heart to keep it in its right 
place, for it felt very much like it was dancing the german 
after its own music. My eyes ran over the letter with an 
eagerness that any of my readers would have felt under 
circumstances ; but to my disgust I could not’ read one 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


5 7 


word of it, and I had to lay it away unread ; but my disap- 
pointment was beyond description. It was written in 
Spanish, and badly written, too. Again I sought my 
couch, and tried to banish the letter from my mind by 
reflecting that perhaps my train of thought before sleeping 
had been such as to induce the dream. So, while under 
this reflection, the blessed angel of sleep spread her peace- 
ful wings over my thorny pillow, and I sank into oblivion, 
and this time I slept soundly. No glittering-eyed monster 
stared down on me ; and I could not feel any long fingers 
choking the breath out of my body. I was wandering in 
a beautiful sunbeam meadow, hedged with flowers of 
every hue, while birds of fairest plumage sang their min- 
isterial songs ; and goiden-winged butterflies danced to 
the music of bumblebees, and played hide and seek with 
fairies around glimmering violets and smiling bluebells. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE LETTER TRANSLATED. 

The next morning I awoke with nerves somewhat 
unstrung, and a severe pain in my head, caused by my 
midnight rehearsal, and for the want of that perfect sleep 
and composure which nature requires of her children, and 
who will surely suffer if they deviate from her stringent 
law r s and government. 

Well, the battle was over and Phoebus clothed in 
majesty sublime, arose in all his splendor, and smiled like 
a conquering king and caused every thing else to smile 
whether it wanted to or not. No traces of the aerial bat- 
tle were left except a few broken branches and a cranky 
old sign-post that had to lay its gilded head against a tree 
for support ; though it, too, seemed to smile as it caught 
up the rays of the sun and flashed back the light, and the 
gilded letters stood out boldly to be read by the passers- 
by — “ Cash Store.” I had gazed upon that sign-board the 
day previous with little interest, in fact with no interest at 
all. It was simply a sign-board, and nothing more ; but 
this morning I felt as if I could* go up to it and shake 
hands with it on the spot. There were only two words, 

(58) 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


59 


but they had a deep meaning, and the letters seemed 
more indelible. I read it over and over again. That is 
very simple, said I to myself; yet it means a great deal. 
I suppose it means “ no trust,” which may be regarded as 
equivalent to not to be trusted. We infer that although 
it may not be complimentary to the man’s customers, it 
indicates that he is doing business on a safe plan. 

What if every untrustworthy person should be labeled 
with the words “not to be trusted, ” just as we see the 
sign “No trust” on sign-boards or behind counters. And 
suppose every untrustworthy thing about us were to be 
thus labeled in conspicuous letters, how many surprises 
we would have. No one can distinguish with the naked 
eye the electrotype article from the solid gold, and in 
Paris every jeweler is obliged by law to placard his goods 
according to their intrinsic value. What a relief it would 
be if some such statute could be made universal. 

Here is a ship equipped for sea ; every thing looks well 
about it ; she is freshly painted, and newly furnished ; the 
cabin is exquisitely adorned, the colors that stream from 
the mast-head are bright and fair, but if we could see just 
above the water-mark the phosphoric words gleaming out, 
“Not to be trusted,” warning us that the timbers are un- 
sound, or the engine imperfect, or that the vessel is not 
properly manned, the captain incompetent, or the crew 
rebellious, we should be very thankful for the caution. 

Here is a man about to cross a bridge driving a heavy 


6o 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


team ; to ail appearance it is a well built structure. It has 
borne the weight of many heavy loads in days gone by. 
It has securely resisted the most terrible freshets and ice 
packs; it still seems to be in sufficiently good repair, but 
it is in fact worn out and unsafe, and there are inspectors 
who know, or ought to know, that it is so; and until it is 
rebuilt they should have out a sign “ Not to be trusted; ” 
neglecting to do this, the next thing we hear is that the 
bridge has gone down, and man and beast have gone 
down with it crushed to death. And turning from the 
works of man, to man himself, ought not many among our 
own species to be labeled with the words “Not to be 
trusted?” The inmates of our prisons, as might be ex- 
pected, wear some such badge. Their dress and manner 
and countenance betray them. But in other quarters 
there are those who deserve to be thus branded who do 
not bear about them any visible mark of reproach. 

There comes among us a great philanthropist and re- 
former, who has devoted his life to the service of human- 
ity. Whatever the cause may be which he has happened 
to take in hand he represents it as the greatest of all causes 
— the one thing which is needful to do in order to save the 
world. He has sacraficed every thing that he might put 
himself at the head of this mighty movement, and all that 
he asks in return is a liberal supply of money to support 
him, and your.sufferage to give him .position. Look care- 
fully just under the skin and you may read the words, 
“Not to be trusted.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 6 1 

As these illustrations presented themselves to my mind, 

I was impressed with the idea that if Dr. St. George had 
been blest with one of these unsophisticated sign-boards- 
in front of his chamber-window and had studied its silent 
language as diligently as I had that morning, he would 
have been more careful in selecting a nurse for his baby. 

After taking tin taya de cafe I went down to the parlor 
and rang for the porter who came in smilihg and bowing. 
“Order me a carriage” said I, “and bring down my 
wraps.” The thunder shower had certainly had a most 
beneficial effect upon the weather, and the morning was 
cool and sharp. 

“The carriage is waiting at the ladies’ entrance,” said 
the porter, as he came in with my hat and wraps. 

“Take me to Dr. St. George’s residence,” said I to the 
driver, as I entered the carriage ; and it was not long be- 
fore the carriage rolled up before the beautiful grassplot in 
front of his handsome dwelling. I alighted from the car- 
riage and walked up the flight of marble steps and rang 
the door-bell, which was answered by an old colored 
woman. I handed her my card saying, “ Tell the doctor 
that I wish to see him on important business.” 

The servant soon returned saying that Dr. St. George 
would be in in a few minutes, and drew up an easy chair 
to the fire and bade me to be seated. The parlor was 
exquisitely furnished. The carpet, which was of crimson 
velvet was like fairy moss beneath one’s feet and gave no 


62 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


sound as the foot fell upon it. The chandelier was of 
frosted gold ; a cheery fire sparkled behind the heavy silver 
bars of the polished grate and cast a rosy glow over the 
rich and dainty adornments of the room. Profound silence 
prevailed through the great house. The occasional drop- 
ping of the coal in the grate, and the tick, tick of the 
French clock upon the mantle, alone broke the silence. 
Presently the ‘door opened softly, and Dr. St. George 
entered, looking pale and haggard. “I am happy to see 
you. Miss Ainsly, ” said he, giving me a hearty shake of 
the hand; “ and I am sorry to have kept you waiting so 
long.” 

“Please do not offer an apology,” I replied, “those 
handsome paintings have well entertained me ; I think they 
are exquisite.” 

“Yes,” he replied quietly, “and I appreciate them 
because they were painted by my wife. That one,” he 
continued, turning to a beautiful portrait, “ is my wife. I 
had it painted for her while we were in Italy.” 

“It is the most exquisite painting I ever saw; it is 
beautiful; I have never seen such a face or form,” I 
replied. 

“ And she was as good and noble as she was beautiful,” 
was his earnest reply. And then he arose and opened 
the folding doors and said, ‘ ‘ This was her room, Miss 
Ainsly, ” and going up to a dainty little crib, he laid a 
trembling hand upon it. and said, “This was our darling’s 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


63 


little crib, and it is just as she left it;” and the scalding 
tears trickled down his cheeks and dropped on his white 
bosom. 

The room was lovely indeed, with its delicate tinted 
walls, and beautiful lace curtains trailing like bridal-veils 
upon the rich carpet of bronze and gold. In one corner of 
the room sat the baby-crib, with a dainty little pillow all 
trimmed with snowy lace ; and only a few short hours 
before the baby had lain with its little head upon that pil- 
low looking up into its mother’s face cooing and laughing, 
and that mother bending over her darling with a feeling 
unknown save only to herself and Maker, to whom she 
committed it ; and little did that mother know that before 
forty-eight hours her darling, her idol, would be cradled 
in an eagle’s nest. Its golden curls dyed with the blood of 
the eagle’s prey. Its little fingers trembling and quivering 
’mid eagle’s feathers, as the gentle wind swayed the bough 
that held its blood-stained bed ; while its destroyer was 
perched but a short distance wheting his bill ready to tear 
it in pieces at the awakening of her young ones should they 
cry for food. O ! how good of the wise One above to 
fling destiny’s veil over the flight of our years. And could 
I but tear one single leaf from memory’s gilded pages, the 
memories of that day I would bury in oblivion, for they 
crowd thick and fast upon my brain, and compel me to 
lay down my pen to dry the tears that so often dim my 
eyes. And should there be traced upon these pages one 


6 4 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


single tear, go with me, kind reader, and walk side by 
side with those whose lives I am about to relate, and you 
will pardon my weakness, if such it be, for now and then 
I find a tear-drop trembling upon my lids, from which 
bright beams of silver are dancing to the dying embers in 
the grate. But I am wandering from my subject. 

‘•Dr. St. George,” said I, stopping suddenly and con- 
fronting him, “I am ashamed to tell you my business 
now that I have come ; I fear you will think that I am. 
weak, and superstitious.” 

“ Do not be afraid or ashamed to tell me any thing,”” 
said he kindly, 4 ‘ and remember that I am always your 
friend, and at all times ready and happy to do any thing 
for you that lies in my power. Now, what can I do for 
you, Miss Ainsly?” I would like for you to relieve me 
of my suspense” said I, drawing out the letter. 

“What have you?” said he, reaching out his hand for 
the letter. 

I put the letter in his hands, and said, “There is a 
letter that I would like you to read ; I think it is in the 
Spanish language. Do you speak Spanish? I think I heard 
you speak of your travels through Spain, or of being in 
Spain.” 

“Yes,” said he, 4 I was two years there, and the Span- 
ish language is my favorite study.” 

“ I am glad to be so fortunate,” I said, for I am more 
than anxious to know the contents of that letter ; and 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 6 5 

before you proceed let me give you an explanation, and 
perhaps you will pardon my superstition.” 

He listened very attentively as I related to him my 
dream, and when I was through he said, “It is a very 
strange dream, Miss Ainsly, and that reminds me of my 
own.” “And you have been dreaming too?” said I, 
smilingly. 

“ Yes, ” he replied, ‘ ‘ I thought you called to see me and 
gave me a letter to read, but before I read it I awoke, 
and never had the pleasure of reading it ; so I see my 
dream is fulfilled.” 

“Well! well!” said I, drawing a long breath. “I am 
rather inclined to believe that while we are asleep, our 
spirits desert the body, and traverse the unknown paths of 
the future, and rehearse what our bodies will perform while 
awake. 

“Something like a newspaper reporter” said he, try- 
ing to force a smile; “going around gathering up facts ; 
and sometimes the spirit is like the reporter, it gathers a 
great deal that is not fact.” 

He opened the letter and began to read to himself. I 
watched his countenance as he read, and could tell by the 
coming and going of the blood in his face and temples that 
the contents interested him beyond a doubt. 

“You must excuse me for reading it to myself first,” 
said he, “as I do not know the language perfectly, and I 
did not wish to make a blunder ; but must say, that your 


66 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


superstition is well founded, for this is certainly a myste- 
rious letter, and I join you in the belief that this letter was 
written by the abductor of my child ; and it is in a man’s 
handwriting. I will now translate it to you in English.” 

“I will be in possession of the object we are in pursuit of in forty- 
eight hours. Meet me at the foot of Sugar Loaf Mountain, on the 
morning of the 27th, at six o’clock ; and do not fail to bring with you 
the $1,000, you promised me should I be successful, as I shall not return 
to the city again, for this country will be too small to hold me after this; 
and if you fail to bring the money, I am thinking it will be too warm 

for yourself, as I shall return the to its and expose all. You know 

what I mean.” 


I. N. 


CHAPTER V. 


I CAN NOT BURY MY FATHER IN THE POTTER^ FIELD; OR THE 
DOOM OF A DRUNKARD’S WIFE. 

Kind and gentle reader, permit me to accompany you 
to the city of L., where the scene of our story is laid, 
though it will not be a pleasure trip ; neither can I prom- 
ise to take you through the fashionable streets and ave- 
nues of this beautiful and delightful city, for fear they will 
contrast too widely with dark, black alleys, where I will 
have to conduct you for the purpose of introducing you to 
the hero of our narrative. We will now go down a narrow 
alley, and thence up a five-story tenement house. It may 
be laborious, as well as sickening to your sight, to climb 
those dingy, creaking flights of stairs, with the snow and 
ice beating into your face as you ascend, and the wind 
whistling and whirling over the roof and shaking the crazy 
old structure to its foundation. And perhaps when you 
get to the fifth landing and stand upon a narrow platform, 
and peep down with a dizzy brain into the impenetrable 
darkness, you will become disgusted with your journey 
and involuntarily retrace your steps downward. But I 
trust, kind reader, that you will not close your eyes to the 

(67) 


68 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


scene, though silent desolation, starvation, gaunt, pinched, 
and spectral stalks before you and mingles a footfall with 
vour panting breath. 

Go on, and as you ascend step by step, utter a prayer 
that your aversion might be changed to pity and compas- 
sion for the once bright, but now fallen star, that lies 
therein ; and that charity may be the ruling passion in 
your heart. When you reach the third story turn a little 
to your left and you will enter a room, dark, cold, and 
dreary, where poverty and want grin in their ghastly lone- 
liness and solitude. The silence of desolation brooding 
over all, and the faint lamp-light flickering to its wane, is 
like the beam which creeps up from the exhalations of the 
grave. As you look with awe and wonder upon the beast 
that was once a brave and noble man, you will drop a tear 
of pity for the pale and haggard form of her whom he had 
sworn to love, honor, and protect, and had dragged 
down from the pinnacle of hope, love, and confidence, to 
the lowest depths of despair. She has often climbed 
those rickety stairs to carry the food and fuel which she 
had earned with her needle by a dim burning lamp to keep 
her little ones from starving and freezing as they huddled 
around her with pinched cheeks and purple hands crying 
for bread, while the one who had sworn before his God to 
cherish and protect her, was lying in the gutters, his 
breath polluted with the smell of whisky, with blood-shot 
•eyes and bloated face, though he was once a highminded 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 69 

and honored man, a kind and affectionate husband, and de- 
voted father. 

Go with me, reader, and behold the pale cheeks and 
scalding tears of that crushed wife and mother, and they 
will attest the truth of what I write ; eloquent it may not 
be, but perhaps it will be a warning to who ever may read 
these lines, to shun a course which had so trodden as 
proud a spirit and aspiring ambition as ever throbbed in 
the breast of man. 

The oft-repeated assertion that the sword has slain its 
.thousand, and liquor its tens of thousands, is a truth that 
the world cannot deny. It is the greatest evil that has 
ever been felt among the sons of men. Temperance 
lecturers have gone throughout the land lifting up their 
voices in warning to stop the growing evil. Success seems 
to crown their efforts for a while, and again it breaks out 
with increasing violence filling bright homes and happy 
hearts with sadness, gloom, and desolation. The young 
man fails to perceive the dangers when he sips the poison ; 
and is led on, step by step, until the fatal spell is thrown 
around him, and sinks deeper and deeper into the vortex 
of wretchedness and misery, until the last lamp which 
sheds its brightness upon his path is extinguished, the 
star of hope sinks in darkness, and the moderate, fashion- 
able drinker has become the reeling, bloated, degraded, 
drunkard, and the once happy youth, the delight of his 
mother and the pride of his father, is a wanderer away 

6 


70 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


from his paradisaical home, to rough a devious and dark 
pilgrimage to a dishonored grave, the home idol shattered 
and broken, the altar cast down, and Eden transformed 
into a hell, childhood and innocence thrust out from the 
love-light of a mother’s eye, to wallow in all that is low 
and vile. Tragedies more fearfully dark and hideous than 
Avon’s bard ever sketched are thickly traced on the 
record of rum’s history; scenes which would mock the 
artist’s pen are of daily occurrence ; the desolate home, 
with its heart-broken wife and mother, with pale cheeks, 
channeled with tears of unutterable woe, as she bends 
weeping over the drunken wreck of her youthful idol, the 
child-group, shivering in the blast, are clinging to that 
mother as they cry for bread; the orphans turned out, 
with no friend but God, into the wide world ; youth, 
wrecked manhood, reeling amid the ruins of mind and 
morals ; beauty, the sepulchre of a thousand hopes ; 
genius crumbling to ruin ; the virtuous and nobleminded, 
turning away from truth and honor, plunging into foul 
and festering vice, with sickly and bloated features ; mad- 
ness, with fiery eyes and haggard mien, weeping and wail- 
ing and cursing in rayless night of intellectual chaos ; 
crime, with its infernal, ha ! ha ! as it staggers forth from 
its work of death, with its red hands dripping with the 
hot and smoking life-tide of its victim. Where fiction 
even has called up its weird creation, they have been but 
copies of the facts already transpired. The moral is 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


71 


always there. The hovels, the dram-shops, the subter- 
ranean dens, and the mansions of fashion and wealth have 
all furnished the material for tales of startling interest. 

.We will now return to our narrative, and trust, kind 
reader, that we have not worried your patience. 

Methinks I left you standing upon the fifth landing of 

a tenement house in one of the back streets in L . It 

is a long time to wait in such a place, but, however, we 
we will enter now. Do not knock for admittance, but 
turn the door-knob cautiously and step lightly, for an old 
man is wrestling with death. Delirium is upon him, and 
he raves in his madness of a strange name who first held 
the tempting glass to his lips, and first led his tottering 
feet to the gambling den, and there robbed him of all he 
had labored for so hard to obtain, leaving his wife and 
helpless children to suffer. 

A woman is standing by his couch in a listening atti- 
tude, but, O God! how thin and haggard ! She takes her 
seat mechanically upon a goods box by the side of his 
couch. How fearfully tearless and calm she seems to be ! 
Every feature the foot-print of unutterable agony! Her 
eyes are sunken and inflamed, but are as tearless as her 
cheeks, and lips are bloodless. Save a startling wildness 
about the eye, it would not seem that those features had 
ever been stirred by a human passion. She hears a cau- 
tious footstep, and as she turns her head to look, two arms 
are wound around her neck in a loving embrace ; the faint- 


7 2 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

est flush passes over her cheek as she looks up and beholds 
her boy. 

“You stayed away so late to-night, darling,” said she, 
imprinting a kiss upon his cheeks. 

“I could not help it, mother,” he replied, bending low 
and looking in her tired eyes. “I had to wait so long be- 
fore I could get my money, and then I came by the store 
to get you some tea. I heard you say this morning that 
you would be glad to have a little,” and he laid a little 
package of tea and another of white sugar in her lap. 

She looked up with a glad light in her eyes, and whis- 
pered, “God bless you, my boy; what I would do without 
you Heaven only knows. You are the only comfort your 
poor mother has in this life.” 

“Is father no better, mamma?” he asked. 

“No, child; and I don’t think he can stand it much 
longer. He has been raving since six this morning, and, 
by the way I feel, I judge that I will soon follow; and I 
hope the time is not far distant when I will be laid to rest, 
though it would be hard to leave you, my boy, you and 
little Birdie, who is as dear to me as though she were my 
own child.” 

“ I do not want you to talk that way any more, mamma, ” 
said he, patting her cheeks. ‘ ‘ I can not bear to hear you 
speak as though you had no one to love you and care for 
you, when I love you so much, and will always take care of 
you when I get to be a man. These poor little fingers 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


73 


shall never have to sew any more for bread, nor do any 
other kind of work,” and he raised the pale, thin hand to 
his lips, and, as he did so, a tear dropped from his eyes 
and fell upon her hand, and that tear-drop was sacred in 
that mother’s eye, for she wiped it away with her tresses, 
that she might carry it with her to the tomb. 

As Veary Carlisle is to be the hero of our story, we 
will give him the benefit of a personal description. 

He was a lad of fourteen years, and was truly a hand- 
some boy, with skin pure and healthful and features strong 
and classic. His eyes were large and bright, of a dark, 
luminous brown in color ; his hair very fine and silky, with 
the raven’s caste, and wavy enough to give it that poetry 
of form which delights the artistic eye. He was of me- 
dium stature for one of his age, the only marked pecu- 
liarity being a sort of precocious maturity of form, a 
degree of manliness not often found in one of that age ; 
and what was true of his form of body was also true of the 
shape and development of face and features. There was 
an intellectual look, a ripeness of mind, and a depth of 
understanding manifest in the contour and expression of 
the face, as well as in the remarkable light and language, 
so to speak, of the full, brown eyes — a growth and 
strength of character, in short, which was certainly remark- 
able in one reared ’mid such surroundings as his. In his 
movements he was quick and sure, never hurried, and 
never hesitating after his mind had been once made up. 


74 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


In one corner of the room was a little trundle-bed upon 
which a little girl of seven years lay sleeping. Veary 
walked over and knelt down by the bed, and turned back 
the coverlet and imprinted a kiss upon the lips of the little 
sleeper. As he did so, it stirred in its sleep and a dry sob 
escaped its lips that trembled as if the finger of grief had 
touched the tender heart-strings and set them to vibrating. 

“ What is the matter with little Birdie? ” said he, turn- 
ing to his mother, “she is sobbing as if her little heart 
would break.” 

“ The little thing was crying for something to eat, and 
I had nothing in the house she could eat, and the poor 
child had to go to sleep hungry,” said his mother, sorrow- 
fully. 

“I can not bear that, mother, ” said he, rising. “I 
could not sleep one wink to-night if I knew that little 
Birdie was hungry in her sleep. She must have some- 
thing to eat if the rent is never paid. I will go down and 
get some crackers and a little fresh butter, and will draw a 
nice cup of tea, for you look as though you needed some- 
thing yourself, mother. And perhaps a cup of tea will do 
father good; how sound he sleeps! ” he continued, going 
up to the bed. 

“Don’t wake him, child!” said his mother, “ he has 
just dropped off to sleep, and I have been afraid to move 
for fear of waking him. ” 

“ Mother,” said Veary, goingaround on his tiptoes, to 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


7 5 


where his mother sat, ‘ ‘I want you to go and feel how cold 
pa is, and he don’t seem to breathe at all.” 

She arose and went around to the back of the bed. 
His face was to the wall. She stooped down and placed 
her ear to his mouth, but she could not hear him breathe. 
Then she laid her hand upon his heart, but it was still. 
It had beaten its last stroke, for Death, the arbitrator of all 
claims, had laid his hand upon the harassed man, and the 
sorrows of life were ended. But the world cared not for 
one whose career had ended so ignominiously, and none 
but she who had been most deeply injured stands by his 
side. No one but she wipes the death-damp from his 
brow, as she clings with a devotion to the shattered idol 
which no destiny, however dark, can wrench away. 

The kind family beneath came up and closed his eyes, 
and kept watch through the night. Long Mrs. Carlisle 
tossed upon her sleepless couch, trying in vain to sleep, 
while Veary was planning and scheming how to prevent his 
father from being being buried in “Potter’s Field.” 

“ Mother,” said he, coming up to her the next morn- 
ing and laying his arms around her neck, “ I can not bear 
for father to be buried in ‘ Potter’s Field;’ it is almost 
breaking my heart.” 

“How are we to help it, my child? We have no 
money or friends ; the city will have to bury your father. 
It is very, very hard, dear, but it is our lot ; let us try to 
bear it.” 


76 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

“But, mother,” he continued, “ I have been thinking 
of a plan, and I think with a little help we will be able to 
get a half lot down on the north side; it won’t cost much. 
I mean a spot just large enough to bury him, and when I 
get to be a man, if I ever do, I can buy a family lot.” As 
he said this he looked up earnestly into his mother’s face. 

“My child, ” said she, laying her hand upon his curly 
head, ‘‘where is our help to come from? We have not a 
friendly hand to stretch out to us. Even those who 
have robbed your father of his good name, of the hard 
earnings of years, and of our rights, would not now give 
him a spot in which to lay his body. But, my child, 
tell me what your plans are ; there is no time to waste in 
idle words.” 

“Well, mamma, I thought of going to my employer and 
asking him to let me have money enough to bury my 
father, and let me work it out, and I think he will do it, 
for I have always tried to please him, and have always, 
been so punctual, in fact I am the first boy every morning 
at the store, and never know what it is to sit down from 
the hour I get there until I leave at night.” 

“ Veary, my darling,” said she, “ I do not want to frus- 
trate your plans ; but let me tell you that this same man 
of whom you are speaking is the one who ruined your 
father. I kept it from you because you were in his em- 
ploy, and it was I who obtained the position for you. It 
was I who went to him with prayers and tears, and begged 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 77 

him to give you work, and he drove me from his door 
with curses. It was after that he sent for you to come 
and go to work. I suppose his conscience lashed him. 
Now, do you think that he would let you have a dollar 
toward burying your father?” 

“I am sorry you put me there to work for that man, 
mother,” said Veary, with flashing eyes. 

‘ ‘ I did the best I could, my child ; I tried to get work 
for you at other places, but I could not, and I knew he 
was the one above all others to give you something to do.” 

Veary turned and looked out upon the streets for some 
moments, as if meditating; then he turned again to his 
mother, who had not moved nor taken her eyes off him, 
and said in a tremulous voice, with his hand raised to 
heaven, “Here, in the presence of you and my father’s 
lifeless form, I swear to revenge you and him. That man 
shall one day feel my avenging hand, but I will not put my 
hands upon his polluted carcass. No, I would not touch 
him for fear they would never be cleansed, but yet he 
shall feel my avenging power, and shall be informed of the 
fact. But this,” he continued, “is not going to be an 
obstacle in my way, nor keep me from performing my duty. 
I shall go to him this very minute, and if he don’t choose 
to help bury his victim, I will fall upon some other plan, 
for I can not and will not see my father buried in Potter’s 
Field, if I can help it.” 

“ My child,” said she, “it is of no use, he will not do it. 


78 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

I am sure, and it will not do for you to vex him, for he is 
a dangerous man, and if he turns you off, you will have no 
place to go to, besides, he will turn us out of this house ; 
we owe him one month’s rent already, and that will have 
to be paid. I don’t know what we are to do,” she cried, 
in a voice of despair, and ringing her poor, pale hands. 
“It seems that God has forsaken us; I have prayed day 
and night, and He seems not to hear my prayers.” Then 
she reproached herself for having spoken thus of her only 
true Friend and Comforter, and she burst into weeping. 

“O mother! mother ! ” said Veary, throwing his arms 
around her neck; “I do wish you would not cry! If you 
only knew how bad it made me feel — what effect your 
tears have upon me — I know you would never cry any 
more. It seems that every tear that falls from your eyes 
is rung from my heart. Besides, you never give me any 
encouragement. You think because I am a little boy that 
I have not the ability to do things as they ought to be 
done. Now, if you will only let me, I will show you that 
you might depend upon me a little. If you can not en- 
courage me, my little mamma,” said he, patting her on 
the cheek, “for gracious sake don’t discourage me.” 

She did not speak, but looked into his face with a fasci- 
nation that seemed to chain her eyes to the spot. 

“ My brave boy, not another word from your mother’s 
lips, or one single tear from her eyes, shall ever again cast 
a shadow upon your young and trusting heart.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


VEARY CARLISLE HAS FOUND A FRIEND ; OR, THE CLOUD IS 
PASSING AWAY. 

There were very likely boys of Veary Carlisle’s age 
possessing more bodily strength than himself; but the 
search would be long and tedious that should find one who 
could accomplish more with the strength given him, and 
this much his employer had found out, for he had strained 
every nerve in his body, and had tried him to the utmost 
extent of his strength. He was a selfish and overbearing 
man, and every one who was unfortunate enough to be in 
his employ stood in fear and trembling. And on this par- 
ticular morning he was in no pleasant mood. Every thing 
had gone wrong, and he had lost money heavily, and he 
was determined to take his revenge out of those who 
came under his jurisdiction, and poor Veary was the first 
victim. 

It was nine o’clock when Veary Carlisle walked into 
the store of his employer, who was sitting at the desk 
writing, with a frown the size of his pen-staff lying between 
his eyes ; but they seemed to multiply as he looked up 
and saw Veary Carlisle approaching. “ Isn’t this a pretty 

( 79 ) 


8o 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


time of day for you to come to the store to work?” said 
he, not even looking up, or laying down his pen. 

“I could not help it, sir,” said Veary, “I came to 
tell—” 

“Tell me nothing, you little reprobate, and take your- 
self away ; I have hired another boy just for half the wages 
that I gave you . ” 

“ My father is — ” 

“Your father is a drunken old sot, just what you will 
come to, and I don’t want to hear any more from you ; so 
get out instantly or I will give you a flogging. ” 

Veary turned and walked to the door, hurt and morti- 
fied beyond description, with the cruel words ringing in 
his ears, “Your father is a drunken sot, just what you 
will come to!” Then the blood commenced boiling in 
his veins, and his eyes flashed fire. It seemed as if a tor- 
nado of passion had passed over him. He turned and 
looked his employer full in the face, and almost made him 
quail beneath his piercing gaze. 

“Mr. Scullcutter, ” said he, in a hoarse, tremulous 
voice, “You have insulted my father’s corpse ; you have 
abused his child, and driven him from his employment, 
which bought bread for his sick mother and helpless child, 
simply because he remained at home to bury his father. 
You also threw in my face the sins of my father, who lies 
cold and stiff in the arms of death, and whose sins now 
lie at your own door. You, who first held the tempting 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


81 


glass to his lips; you. who first conducted his tottering feet 
to the gambling den, and there took from him his years of 
honest labor and left his helpless wife and children to 
suffer, and drove him to a drunkard’s grave ; and now heap 
insults upon his helpless child; but you will remember this 
some day, mark my words ; I am but a boy now, but I 
trust some day to be a man.” 

Fen Scullcutter seemed as though he was petrified at 
first. It was more than he expected. Then he raised his 
clenched fist, and coming toward him, exclaimed, “ How 
dare you to speak to me in that way; how dare you insult 
me in this manner, in my own house; you dirty pup?” 

“I dare to do it!” said Veary, “because I am brave 
enough to speak the truth and not cowardly enough to 
swallow an insult if I am but a boy, and especially from 
one who has been the downfall of my father, and whose 
shoes you are not worthy to unlace.” And with this he 
walked away leaving his employer foaming with rage. 

* • * * * * * * * * * 

“ Must I give it up at last ? ” said Veary, as he walked 
along with downcast eyes, and the great tear-drops rolling 
down his cheeks. “Must my poor father be buried in the 
Potter’s field? Must I go home and tell my broken- 
hearted mother that her brave boy, as she called me, has 
failed in his undertaking, after his begging her to trust to 
him, and have confidence in him ? No, I can not, I can 
not. I will get a paper and look over the “Wants.” 


82 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


At that moment a little newsboy passed with the morn- 
ing paper. 

'“Jimmie,” said Veary to the little news-boy, “Will 
you be kind enough to loan me the Courier-Journal a few 
moments ? I want to look over the wants.” “ Certainly,” 
said the boy, and handed him the paper. 

Veary ’s heart bounded with delight as his eyes fell upon 
an advertisement which read as follows : 

“ Wanted ! a good office boy. Must have reference. Will pay good 
wages. Call at No. Street, at half past ten o’clock.” 

“Thank you, Jimmie,” said Veary as he handed back 
the paper and hastened away. 

Judge Elmore was sitting alone in his office; a cheery 
fire was burning and snapping in the grate and casting a 
rosy glow over the handsome Brussels carpet, and the rich 
and beautiful furniture with which the office was furnished. 
He had been busy writing all the morning, and had just 
laid down his pen and took a seat by the fire when a low 
tap w‘as heard upon the door. 

“ Come in,” was the response. 

The door opened, and a curly head and a pair of brown 
eyes greeted him. 

“ Have I the honor of seeing Judge Elmore?” said the 
intruder, bowing low, with hat in hand. 

“Yes, sir,” said the old Judge, smiling and bowing ; “I 
am Judge Elmore; what can I do for you, my little man?” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


83 


“I came in answer to your advertisement,” said he, 
bowing again, as a faint flush mounted to his temples, and 
then stole behind his ears. 

“What is your name, my little man ?” 

“ My name is Veary Carlisle.” 

“ And you want a situation as office boy?” 

“Yes, sir. I am out of a situation at present and 
would be glad to get any thing to do.” 

“ Whom have you been working for?” 

“ Mr. Scullcutter & Co., but he has discharged me.” 

“ Discharged you ?” 

“Yes, sir; he has discharged me, and I am compelled 
to get employment in some way, for I have a sick mother 
and helpless little sister depending upon me for their daily 
bread.” 

“What did he discharge you for?” 

“Because I did not go to work this morning. I re- 
mained at home to see my father buried.” 

“To see your father buried ! ” said the old Judge look- 
ing over his glasses, and wondering if he had heard aright. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“Is it possible ! Did you tell him why you staid 
away ?” 

“ No, sir. He would not let me tell him, nor give him 
any explanation.” 

“A brute,” cried the Judge as he gave the fire a punch 
and leaned his head upon his hand, and for a moment there 


$4 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

was silence. Then he raised his head again and said, 
When was your father buried?” 

“ My father is not buried yet.” 

“ Your father is not buried yet,” said the Judge in as- 
tonishment, “and you out looking for employment. ” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Veary, “though my father lies dead 
in the house I can not allow my poor sick mother to suffer. 
And unless I get work she will surely suffer.” 

Then he told him how he had gone to his employer, to 
beg his assistance in burying his father, that he might not 
be buried in the Potter’s Field. And he also told him 
what a high-minded and honorable man his father had been 
in former days, and how he had fallen from his integrity 
in an unguarded moment — how he had been tempted to 
the bar-room by those whom he took to be his friends and 
in one single night lost his entire fortune while sitting at 
the gaming-table. “And Mr. Scullcutter, ” he con- 
tinued, “is the one that ruined my father. He has in his 
possession all my father’s hard earnings.” 

“And then refuse to give his child employment?” said 
the old judge with a nod. 

“It is true, sir,” said Veary. 

“ Did you say your father was named Carlisle ?” 

“Yes, sir. Julius Carlisle was my father’s name, and 
he was born and raised in West Virginia. Was a lawyer 
by profession, and ’twas said that he was a bright star in 
his profession.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 85 

“ Why bless my life, boy, you don’t mean to tell me 
that you are Julius Carlisle’s son! Can it be possible? 
Get up and come to the light and let me see if there is any 
resemblance.” 

“Yes, yes,” said the judge looking over his glasses, 
“there is Jule’s eyes and forehead. The very image of 
him when he was a boy ; bless my life if this don’t beat all ; 
sit down my boy, sit down. Well, well, well ; how long 
since your father left Virginia?” 

“Seven years,” said Veary. “We first went to Cin- 
cinnati to live, and it was there father met with Mr. Scull- 
cutter, and after he lost his property he moved to this 
place. Did you know my father, Judge Elmore?” 

“Did I know your father, child? Why, he was the 
dearest friend I ever had. To him I owe my success in 
life. And it grieves me,” he continued, wiping a tear 
from his honest old eyes, “it pains me to think that 
Julius Carlisle, my old tried and true friend, should be 
living right here under my nose and suffering for the want 
of a friendly hand, and I with plenty of money, more 
than I know what to do with, and could not help him. 
Ah! well, such is life,” and he arose and gathered up his 
hat and cane in an excited manner, but fell back in his 
chair again and groaned. “Ah ! well,” he exclaimed, “ I 
thought that I would walk home with you, but I believe 
my rheumatism is going to prevent me.” 

“You had better not try it, Judge,” said Veary. “I 

7 


86 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


don’t think you could climb those steps, for we live in the 
fifth story of a tenement-house.” 

“God help us,” said the judge, falling back in his chair. 
“ Is it possible that your poor old father and mother had to 
climb those flights of stairs. Well, take this, my child ; 
it is one hundred dollars, and all I have about me. It will 
bury your father decently. Poor man, I wish it had been 
in my power to have helped him while he lived. Ah I 
well, he don’t need it now.” 

Veary was so happy he scarcely knew what to say or 
how to act. 

“I can not sufficiently thank you,” said Veary, hold- 
ing the money between his fingers, which trembled with 
excitement; “and I hope you will permit me to repay 
you some day.” 

“That is all right,” said the judge, “but you had bet- 
ter hasten, for you will have no time to wait. Tell your 
mother that she has my heartfelt sympathy, and that I 
trust the dark clouds of adversity will soon pass away. 
Come to me to-morrow morning at eleven o’clock. Now 
go, and God bless you, my boy.” 

********* 

For two hours Mrs. Carlisle walked the floor impa- 
tiently, waiting for the return of her son. Now and then 
she would go to the window and look out. The snow was 
fast falling, covering up the footsteps of the passers-by, 
and wrapping all creation in one great winding-sheet. Pres- 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 87 

ently she heard his footsteps, and in another second his 
arms were around her neck. 

“0 mother,” said he, “I have learned one thing this 
morning that I did not know before.” 

“ What is it my boy? I know that experience is a dear 
school, and that your young and unsophisticated heart 
will have to learn some bitter lessons in life; but I trust 
your teacher has not been a hard one this morning, my 
child.” 

“No; it is not a bitter lesson, my mother, but the 
sweetest lesson I ever learned. One that teaches me that 
there are some good people in this world, and not all bad 
ones,” and as he said this he slipped the bill of money 
into her hands and exclaimed, “Now father won’t be 
buried in Potter’s Field?” 

Neither was he buried in Potter’s Field, but was laid 
away upon a beautiful slope, beneath the shadows of the 
elm-trees ; and the violets and buttercups which Veary and 
little golden-haired Birdie have planted have almost hidden 
it from view. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE DEATH-BED GIFT A MOTHER^ BLESSING. 

Winter unbound her icy chains, and summer came and 
ruled over the land with her red-hot rod until the term of 
her sovereignty was gone, and the grim old monarch has 
again taken possession of the throne, and his pale banner 
floats across the snow-laden sky, and his breath traces fanci- 
ful hieroglyphics of his decrees on the window-panes in 
figures of frosted crystal. 

There have been many changes during the old year 
that now lies buried in the past — changes for the better, 
and changes for the worse. But I trust, dear reader, that 
the change that has been wrought in the home of our hero 
is for the better. Or at least I think so now, and think 
that you will acknowledge the same at the conclusion of 
our story. 

Just twelve months have passed over Veary Carlisle’s 
head since that dark and gloomy day he heard the solemn 
sound of the frozen clods falling upon his father’s coffin- 
lid. Just twelve months to a day he was called upon to 
stand by the death-bed of his idolized mother, to hear her 
blessing, and receive the parting kiss. 

( 88 ) 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


89 


“ Come near me, my son,” said she faintly, “lam too 
feeble to speak loud/’ 

He came near and knelt down by the bed and took one 
of her cold, pale hands in his own and pressed it to his 
lips. 

“Veary, is this you, my darling? I can not see,” said 
his dying mother. 

“Yes, dear mother, it is Veary,” he replied, as the 
tears trickled down his cheeks and dropped upon the hand 
that he held tightly in his own. 

“God bless you, my darling,” said she, “my brave 
and noble boy, and may He preserve you from the temp- 
tations that will crowd thick and fast upon your pathway, 
and guide your young footsteps into paths of wisdom, 
virtue, and truth. And God grant that you may be as 
good a man as you have been to me a son. Now kiss 
your mother, and bring me little Birdie.” 

Veary did just as she requested him. When little 
Birdie was laid in her arms she imprinted the farewell kiss 
upon her cheeks, and said, “God bless you, my darling, 
and be your Guide and Protector through life. In the arms 
of your preserver I intrust you, and may you be a bless- 
ing and a comfort to him when I am no more.” 

“Now, my son,” said she, turning to Veary, “ to your 
tender care I intrust my adopted child, and your adopted 
sister. Take her and promise me that you will love her 


9 o 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


and protect her as long as you both live. She will help 
to strengthen your energy, and you will feel that you have 
something to live for and to work for. And God grant 
that she may prove a blessing to you, and that your future 
lives maybe full of sunshine and happiness. ” And, as 
she laid her in his arms, she said, “ Do you promise me, 
Veary ? ” 

“I do, mother,” said Veary, choking back a sob; and 
next moment he had thrown himself upon her breast and 
wept in bitter anguish. “ O, mother, mother,” he cried 
intones of unutterable woe; “lean not give you up. 
Speak to me once more — once again, mother dear.” 

She opened her eyes and a smile passed over her coun- 
tenance, but she never spoke again. Her weary spirit had 
passed the golden gates, and had soared to that city on 
high, where she would be free from the petty wants of this 
poor life. The last few days of her life, as well as the 
days of her young married life, had been spent in peace 
and happiness. Judge Elmore had given her a beautiful 
cottage in the suburbs of the city, and provided her with 
a nurse and all the comforts of life. Veary still remained 
with him, and each day of his life he became more and 
more endeared to him. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


birdie’s trials. 

In a snug little cottage in the suburbs of the city sits 
an old crone, whose name we will give to the reader as 
Granny Nailar. We call her Granny Nailar because she 
is known by no other name, or at least the only one we 
are familiar with. She is nodding in the corner, and her 
breath is polluted with the smell of whisky. At her feet 
sits a little girl, with deep blue eyes, and hair like threads 
of gold from the fairy’s loom, curled upon the hearth-rug. 
The rug is a shabby one ; so threadbare that little of its 
original pattern is distinguishable. The room is small, 
and there is but little fire in the grate ; though the earth 
is carpeted with snow and ice, and the sharp, cutting wind 
delights to whistle playfully through the chinks of the 
windows and doors, and through the key-hole, and down 
the chimney, and stirs the golden locks of the little girl, 
as she dresses up the fire-poker with Granny Nailar’s new 
bandanna handkerchief. 

“What are you doing, you little devil you,”’ exclaimed 
the old hag, as she snatched the handkerchief from the 
little girl, and gave her a slap which set the poor child’s 

(9i) 


92 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


ears almost on fire. “How dare you take my handker- 
chief and dress up that dirty fire-poker with it, when you 
know it is all that I have. Just look how it is soiled. 
Now take that, and that, and that,” said she boxing poor 
Birdie’s ears, first on one side and then on the other, until 
her head fairly ached from the blows. “ Now get up this 
minute, and take yourself out doors and pick up some 
wood and put on the fire ; and then get your old ragged 
dress and bonnet and come to me. You’re crying, are 
you ? Now look here, my lady gay, if you don’t stop 
them snubs, and wipe up them tears, and do as I bid you, 
I will take that hickory to you, and when I do get to work 
on you all the demons from the lower regions can’t pull 
me off. And now let me give you a piece of advice, that 
will be a benefit to you after you are dead and rotten, and 
that is this, let me hear of you repeating to Veary Carlisle 
what I say or do, I will kill you and throw you out to that 
big hog, and he will eat you up. Veary does not care for 
you no way. He is not your brother, either.” 

“ Buddie Veary is my buddie, ” said poor little Birdie, 
choking back a sob, “and he loves me, too.” 

“Well, he won’t love you any more,” she continued, 
drawing the filthy looking bonnet down over her face. 
“And he told me that if you did not mind me, to whip 
you and make you mind. Now you have ruined my new 
handkerchief, and you must go out and beg money enough 
to-day to buy me a new one. Do you hear? ” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 93, 

“Yes, ma’am,” said the little innocent, sobbing. 

“And another thing, don’t you go near old Elmore’s 
office for Veary to see you. If you do, I will beat you 
soundly. Do you hear?” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“ Besides, Veary will whip you himself if he sees you, 
and I will tell him what I had to send you out for.” 

“ Veary never whip me in his life, and you never whip 
me when he is at home, neither. I wish he would stay 
home all the time,” said Birdie. 

“It is because you behave yourself when he is home. 
That is why you never get any whippings; but I am not 
going to have you stand up there and sass me, when I am 
old enough for your great grandmother. I will shut you 
up in the dark garret, and not give you one mouthful to 
eat, like I did the other day. Will you go now, without 
another word ? And don’t you come back empty-handed, 
neither. Let me see ; go round to that good doctor’s 
office who gave you that big handful of money — you 
remember, don’t you?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Well, when you see a heap of fine gentlemen stand- 
ing on the corner, you must go up to them and sing, ‘ Out 
in this cold world alone.’ And don’t forget to say that 
your mother is sick in bed, and has no money to buy any 
thing to eat. If you tell them that, you will get a heap of 
money. And if you are smart and get lots of money, I 


94 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


will buy you a doll one of these days — a real doll, with 
hair and eyes just like your own.” 

At these words, the face of little Birdie brightened up, 
for if there is anything that will bring happiness to a little 
girl’s heart, it comes in the shape of a doll. 

From the cradle to the grave, there is one bright spot 
in a woman’s life around which memory loves to cling. It 
comes with the presentation of the first doll, and the mem- 
ory of that doll is never obliterated. Though years of 
care and the stern realities of life may cause her to forget 
things of greater consequence, and real dolls with bright 
eyes and flaxy hair, hang over the back of her chair, and 
sit in groups at the fireside, she will never forget her first 
doll. 

I can not forget the unspeakable happiness that filled 
my childish heart, when f awoke one Christmas morning 
and peeped over to the fire-place where I had hung my 
stocking for Santa Claus, and spied a pair of doll-feet 
sticking out at the top. And when I am old, and my 
head is gray, and the things of the past are but a dream 
that has been told, those doll-feet will ever be fresh in my 
memory. 

Birdie received her instructions and started on her mis- 
sion of begging, as she had done ever since her mother’s 
death, when she was unfortunate enough to fall in the 
clutches of this old hag, who was her mother’s nurse, and 
whom Veary had allowed to remain after his mother’s death 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 95 

to take care of his little sister. She was one of those nu- 
merous hypocrites with which we so often come in con- 
tact, who carry God in their mouths and the devil in their 
hearts. She had so completely beguiled Veary Carlisle 
that he had unbounded confidence in her faith and sincer- 
ity, and would say to his little sister, “You must be a 
good girl and mind granny, and do just as she bids you," 
little dreaming that his little sister, whom his dying mother 
had intrusted to his tender care, was sent out every morn- 
ing on a mission of beggary, and should she not be suc- 
cessful a whipping or a prison in a dark garret, without 
food or fire, was her reward. And the money which he 
left her to buy food and fuel was spent for whisky. Never 
in his life had he dreamed of little Birdie’s cruel treat- 
ment, and she was too much afraid of the old woman tp 
reveal her cruelty to Veary. But the scars upon her back, 
which had only felt the pressure of a mother’s gentle hand, 
told too plainly the tale the lips were forbidden to reveal. 

O, woman ! born to be a mother ! that thou shouldst 
ever be bereft of a mother, and thy infancy be thus left 
alone with want and poverty ; with nerves most delicately 
attuned, to feel and to suffer most excruciatingly, sensi- 
tively affected by any rude touch of pleasure or of pain ; 
capable of the most self-sacrificing love, and always yearn- 
ing for its smiles ; with perceptions keen and quick, to 
feel and understand. No wonder the wails and cries of 
the infantile throng are heard in our land. 


9 6 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


Woe be unto him who shall dare lay fingers on one of 
these little ones, of whom God hath said, suffer little chil- 
dren to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such 
is the kingdom of heaven. 

How sweet is the poet’s appeal in behalf of these little 
ones — 

Deal gently with these homeless ones, 

Though lowly they may be, 

For they have much to tempt and test 
That you can never see. 

And when within your happy homes 
You hear the voice of mirth, 

And smiling faces gather round 
Your warm and cheerful hearth, 

Let charitable thoughts go forth, 

For these sad, homeless ones, 

And your own lot more blest will be, 

For every kind deed you’ve done. 


CHAPTER IX. 


DR. ST. GEORGE AND THE LITTLE BEGGAR GIRL. 

It was a cold, bitter day in December — a day which 
would almost tempt a judge from his tribunal, a 
physician from his patient, or a man from seeking the 
smiles of his fiancee. 

All day the snow and rain had been falling and freezing 
upon the pavement, making silver daggers hang from the 
eves of the houses, and bending the trees and shrubbery, 
that looked as though they were bowed with grief — mourn- 
ing for the departing year. 

“ What has come over me this morning?” soliloquized 
Dr. St. George leaning his head against the mantel-piece, 
and gazing down into the grate where a bright fire was 
glowing. “ I feel so depressed in spirit; I suppose it is 
the miserable weather ; for it is enough to kill any one 
with the blues.” 

And sure enough he did look like a statue of sadness 
and solitude in a wildernoss of voluptuous luxuries. It 
seemed impossible for one to feel gloomy or sad ’mid such 
surroundings. His office, where we will now conduct our 
readers, is exquisitely fitted up. Every thing seems to 

( 97 ) 


98 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

blend in harmony. In one corner of the room is a beauti- 
ful book-case filled with the choicest of reading ; and on 
the opposite side is another which contains his medical 
works. His desk is of walnut and is beautiful in shape, 
and covered with crimson velvet ; while the carpet, chairs, 
and divans all match in color. In the center of the room 
is a marble-slab table, upon which sits a vase of hot-house 
flowers, and which have perfumed the room with their 
sweet odor, and over the whole a mocking-bird is splitting 
its throat in ecstacies, and seems to rejoice over the death- 
bed of the dying year, and the approaching of the Christ- 
mas-bells, and trying, if possible, to delight the ears of 
his devoted master and companion. 

A low tap came upon the door. 

“Come in,” was the quick response. 

The knob turned but did not unbolt. 

“It must be a child,” said Dr. St. George, and he 
hastened to open the door, and in spite of his unpleasant 
feelings, a smile spread over his countenance as he looked 
down upon the little waif at his feet ; and had it not been 
for two little violets peeping from beneath a dirty hood, it 
would have been difficult for him to ascertain whether it 
was a human being, or a bundle of rags that had escaped 
from the paper-mill. 

“Well, well, well,” said the doctor, “if here is not 
my little beggar-girl again. Come in child, it is a fearful 
day for a little girl like you to be out. Come to the fire 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


99 


and warm ; for you look as if you were half frozen. It is 
a pity, ” said he, closing the door much harder than he 
intended, “ that childhood and innocence should be thrust 
out to suffer for the sins of their parents.” 

“Mr. Doctor, I don’t like for any body to call me a 
beggar, ” said she, spreading out her little purple fingers to 
the glowing fire. 

“Why don’t you want to be called a beggar? ” said he 
drawing her close to his chair. 

“’Cause I don’t, that’s all.” 

“Well, I won’t call you so any more then, if you will 
tell me your name.” 

“ My name is Birdie.” 

“ Have you no other name beside Birdie? ” 

“No. That’s all.” 

“ Well, what is your mamma’s name ? ” 

“ I ain’t got no mamma. She’s gone up to heaven, 
and I ain’t nobody’s child now. 

“ Poor child,” said he, as he thought of his own little 
one lying so cold and still in the bosom of the earth, 
snatched away from the arms of fond parents, away from 
a home of luxury where she would never know a want, or 
aught of grief that wealth could shield her from ; while 
this one was left to wander alone and uncared for, without 
parents, without friends, or even the comforts of life. 

“ Mr. Doctor, what are you thinking about? ” said she, 
taking one of his hands to play with. 


TOO 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


“ I was thinking of my little girl,” said the doctor. 

‘‘Have you dot a little girl?” said Birdie, looking in- 
terested. 

“ I had one,” said he, “ but she is now in heaven, and 
I have no little girl now.” 

“ Is her mamma there too ? ” 

“Yes, her mamma is there too.” 

“ Well, she won’t be afraid then,” said she, patting his 
hand. 

A faint smile passed over his countenance as he gazed 
in silent amazement upon the little beggar, who did not 
want to be called a beggar. Presently he raised his hand 
to her head and pulled back the hood that had almost 
concealed her face from view. O, he almost lost his 
breath. It seemed to him that he had been suddenly 
brought face to face with a dead past — with the dreadful 
reality of some terrible tragedy. He felt as if he had 
witnessed a rash hand draw the white sheet from off the 
face of his dead wife, and leave it exposed to view. What 
eyes of heaven’s undimmed blue ! What shining showers 
of sunny ringlets concealed beneath that dirty hood. ‘ 1 I 
never saw a more perfect likeness in my life,” said he to 
himself, as he gazed upon the child. “ Her eyes and 
hair, and forehead, and even the little brown mole upon 
her left cheek. If I did not know that my own little one 
was safe in the arms of its mother I would claim her for 
my own.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


IOI 


“I have dot something for you,” said she, looking at 
him coquettishly. 

“ Got something for me ? ” 

“ Yes, and I bet you can’t guess what it is.” 

“ Let’s see, ” said the doctor, closing his eyes. ‘ ‘Candy?” 

“No.” 

“Some nuts?” 

“No.” 

4 ‘ Some pretty flowers ? ” 

“O, you saw it,” said she, unrolling a piece of soiled 
paper, which she had just taken out of her bosom. 

“No, I did not,” said he laughing. 

“ Honor bright?” 

“Yes, honor bright.” 

“Well, here it is,” said she, holding up a beautiful 
button-hole bouquet. “It is just as fresh as it can be, and 
not a leaf is withered. Will you put it in your coat.” 

“Certainly,” said the doctor, reaching out his hand to 
take it. “ Where did you get this pretty bouquet.” 

“ O, I found it just at the top of the steps.” 

“ Well, I will have to thank you little Missie, ” said he, 
“for I have not received such a nice present in a long 
time. But tell me, little one, how came you to give it 
to me ? ” 

“ Because I likes you,” was the frank reply. 

‘ ‘ Why do you like me better than any other man ? I 
am afraid you are a little flirt.” 

8 


102 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

‘ ‘ I loves you because you are such an awful good 
man,” said she, looking up into his face with perfect trust 
and confidence. 

“Why do you think that I am a good man ? ” said he, 
patting her on the cheek. 

“ Because you never stamp your foot at me, and drive 
me out, when I come in your office, like some of these 
bad men do.” 

“Perhaps you plague them too much. You know 
gentlemen don’t like to be troubled when they are busy.” 

“Well, I am glad you are never busy then,” said she, 
drawing a long breath. 

“O, you are mistaken,” said he, holding up a large 
book. “I have to read and study all these books, and 
when I am not doing that I am attending the sick.” 

“ Can you cure sick people?” said she, looking more 
interested than ever. 

“Ido sometimes,” said he, laughing, “and sometimes 
I do not. It depends on whether they are curable or 
not.” 

“Well, I wish you would cure my granny,” she re- 
plied, drawing another long breath then I wouldn’t 
have to beg any more, and you would not call me a little 
beggar neither, would you ? ” 

‘ ‘ But I am not going to call you a little beggar any 
more if you don’t want me to,” said he. “Now tell me 
where you live, and I will go and give her some medicine.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


103 


“ I can’t tell you,” said she ; “ it is a long ways.” 

“ What is the matter with your granny?” 

“ I don’t know; she takes something that she calls 
medicine, and then she gets sick right away, and can’t 
walk at all. Is not that awful ? ” 

“ Yes, it is awful,” said the doctor, for he had taken 
the hint, when it was not intended for one ; for Birdie did 
not understand the malady with which her granny was af- 
flicted. He had now become interested in the child, and 
was determined to find out as much as he could about the 
little waif. A bond of sympathy had sprung up between 
them, and he felt an interest in her that he had not felt in 
any one before. He would sit for hours thinking of her, 
and then he would try to cast her out of his thoughts ; but 
it seemed that her image was chained to his memory by 
some mysterious power. 

‘ ‘ Have you no one but your granny ? ” said he, picking 
her up and setting her upon his knee. 

“ O, yes; I have a Buddy Veary,” she replied, smiling 
up in the doctor’s face. “ But he is being made a lawyer 
down at Judge Elmore’s office; and what do you think, 
he says if I be a good girl and mind granny, who aint my 
granny, when he gets to be a big man he will buy a big, 
fine house, and I shall have it all to myself. Wont I be a 
grand lady then ? Granny wont be there to make me beg. 
I don’t love to beg,” she continued; “ 
made me beg; she was a good mamma.” 


mamma never 


104 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


“Is it possible,” said Dr. St. George to himself, “that 
Veary Carlisle allows his little sister to go out begging in 
the streets ? I can’t believe that he is aware of it ; if he is, 
he is not the boy I took him to be.” 

“O, my Buddy Veary don’t know that I beg, ’cause 
granny won’t let me tell him. She says if I tell him she 
will "kill me.” 

“And she sends you out on the streets begging, un- 
known to your brother ? ” 

“Yes, sir; and I ’spect I will have to go out and beg 
some money now, for I ain’t got none yet, and if I don’t 
get some she will — ” 

“ She will do what ? ” 

“ Well, if I tell you, you won’t tell Buddy Veary, will 
you ? ” 

“ If you say not.” 

“ Well, she will beat me.” 

“ Beat you ! ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Does she always beat you when you go home with- 
out money ? ” 

“Yes, sir. She beats me and then she won’t give me 
any thing to eat.” 

“ How often does your brother come home ?” 

“ He comes every Wednesday and every Sunday.” 

“Did he ever see your granny drunk?” 

“Drunk! What’s that?” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


05 


(< Being under the influence of liquor.” 

“ Liquor? Granny don’t drink liquor; I drink the 
liquor and grannyeats the meat.” 

“ Well, well,” said the doctor, laughing ; “ did he ever 
see her when she was sick, after she had taken some of 
that medicine you were speaking of just now? ” 

“No, sir; she never takes medicine when Buddy 
Veary is at home ; she never beats me either. I wish he 
would stay all the time.” 

‘ ‘ Why don’t he come home every night ? ” 

“Because he is being made a lawyer, down at Judge 
Elmore’s, and he makes him study every night. Do you 
know Judge Elmore?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Well, he’s an awful good man. Don’t you think so?” 

“Yes, Birdie, he is a good man, and I am glad that 
your brother Veary has fallen into his hands ; but I expect 
you had better run along home or your granny will whip 
you again, poor child.” 

“ But I haven’t got any money yet.” 

“Well here is some money,” said he, slipping some 
money in her hand. “Now I want you to come to my 
office to-morrow morning at ten o’clock, and I promise 
you that you shall not beg any more.” 

“Are you going to tell Buddy Veary? ” 

“Yes, I shall go around to Judge Elmore’s office and 
see Veary Carlisle, and will have him here when you 


io 6 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


come, that he may see with his own eyes his little beggar 
sister. And then/’ said he, bending low and whispering 
in her ear, “ I am going to ask him to let you be my little 
girl, and if he will, why I am going to adopt you, and take 
you home with me, and there you will be queen of my 
house, and you won’t have any granny to beat you then. 
And your brother can come every night if he wants to. 
Do you want to be my little girl ? ” 

She did not speak, but caught his hand and laid her 
cheek upon it, and her lips trembled and presently she 
burst out weeping, and she wept as though her little 
heart was breaking. 

The doctor was surprised at her emotion. He expected 
that she would rejoice. She did rejoice, but not in the 
way he had expected. He had never seen a child weep 
for joy, though he had often seen grown people do so. 

“Well, well,” said he, “I didn’t think you would cry 
because I wanted you to be my little girl. Very well, if 
you don’t want to, I won’t have you then.” 

“ O, do, Mr. Doctor, let me go and be your little girl. 
I won’t cry any more. I could not help from crying, I 
was so glad. You aren’t mad with Birdie now, are you ? ” 
“No, my poor child, I am not mad with you ; I love 
you too well for that ; I didn’t know you were cry- 
ing for joy, I thought you were crying because you 
did not want to go home with me. Now, here is 
some more money, and you must run along home. I will 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


107 


have to go out to see some patients.” And he kissed her 
and she hastened away, throwing a kiss at him as she van- 
ished through the door. 

“ I will go and see Veary Carlisle early in the morn- 
ing,” said the doctor, as he put on his gloves. “ He must 
know it. And if he will let me have her, which I have 
no doubt but he will (for Veary is a sensible boy), she 
shall be all that money and influence can make her. It is 
strange that I should take to that child so. I love her now 
as tenderly as if she was my own. 

“ O, is not that a nice, pretty doll ? ” said Birdie, gazing 
in at the window of a large toy establishment. “ O, it is 
so pretty, I wish I had one, Say, mister, what will you 
let me have one of these dolls for?” 

“Well, it depends upon what kind you want,” said the 
clerk, and he took her in, smiling all the while at the little 
bundle of rags. “ Here is one,” said he, “ that has been 
cracked. I will give it to you ; now take it and run along 
and you must not trouble us any more, the boss won’t 
like it.” 

She took her doll and started for home, and a happier 
heart never beat in the bosom of any child, for it was the 
first doll she had ever had with real hair and blue eyes. 

She had not gone far when she spied a gentleman with 
a traveling bag advancing toward her. 

“ Now if he will let me carry his satchel for him I will 


io8 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


make some more money. Buddy Veary used to make 
lots of money carrying gentlemen’s satchels,” said she to 
herself. 

“Say, Mr. Gentleman, let me carry your satchel. I 
am strong.” 

“You carry my satchel,” said the man indignantly; 
“you look more fit for the paper-mill. Clear out.” He 
gave her a push and she fell into the gutter. 

“You bad, ugly man, you,” said she, crying and look- 
ing heart-broken at her doll now covered with mud. 

“That was a cowardly trick, sir,” said Dr. St. George, 
as he picked her up out of the gutter. He was passing 
just in time to see Fen Scullcutter’s brutal, cowardly act. 

“What did you do that he should knock you in the 
gutter ?” said the kind doctor. 

“Nothing,” said little Birdie, choking back a sob, and 
wiping the mud from her doll. 

“ You must have said something surely.” 

‘ ‘ I only asked him to let me carry his satchel, that’s 
all.” 

“Well, you must not ask gentlemen to carry their 
satchels any more.” 

“ He ain’t no gentleman, or he would not throw a little 
girl in the gutter.” 

“No, he is no gentleman, it is true ; but you must 
never do the like again. Little girls must not carry 
gentlemen’s traveling bags. That is boys’ work.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


IO9 


“ Well, I wish that I was a boy then.” 

“ What do you want to be a boy for? What would you 
do if you were a boy ?” 

“Why, I’d make lots of money.” 

“ It is not every boy that makes money,” said the doc- 
tor. “ But you must go home now. If you don’t, you will 
displease me. Now run along child or you will freeze.” 

Poor little Birdie made her way toward home. Now 
and then she would look at her doll, all soiled with mud, 
and the tears would come into her eyes. 

“ Ha ! O! little Rag-tag, ” said a voice right in her ear, 
“ What have you got there?” 

“ I’ve got nothing but my doll, ” said Birdie “andyou 
go away and leave me alone.” 

The urchin gave a nod at his companion, who grabbed 
the doll and tossed it up several times and let it fall to the 
ground, and then tied a string around its neck and whirled 
it round, and round, while poor little Birdie was screaming 
as loud as her vocal chords would permit her, “ Give me 
my doll; don’t break it ; please don’t!” 

“ Do you want it very bad, little Rag-tag?” said one. 

“ Yes, I do, it is mine. Please let me have my doll.” 

“ Well, if you will give us both a kiss, we will let you 
have it. What says you ?” 

“ I sha’nt, I won’t, you mean, ugly, old boys, you,” 
said she trying to get away from them, for they had hold 
of her hands and were trying to kiss her. 


I 10 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


Presently they screamed and ran away rubbing their 
shoulders and looking back everp step ; and I guess it was 
the last time they were ever caught trying to kiss a girl 
on the highway. 

“Never mind, Birdie,” said a gentle voice behind her; 
“ I would not cry any more. I paid those bad boys for their 
rudeness; I came near cutting them in two with my whip.” 

It was Dr. St. George who spoke. He had started to 
see a patient, and happened to come along just in time to 
rescue her from the claws of those bad boys who took a de- 
light in teasing every little girl that passed them. 

“ Now jump up in my buggy and tell me which way, 
and I will take you home.” 

“ Is that old woman standing in the door your granny ?” 
said the doctor, as he helped Birdie out of the buggy. 

“Yes, that is granny,” said she, shuddering, “and I 
believe she has been taking some more of that bad medi- 
cine for she is awful shaky.” 

“ I know that old woman,” said the doctor, “ and she 
is one of the grandest old hags in the world. She has 
been a professional beggar for years. I had lost sight of 
her, and did not know where she had gone to. How on 
earth your brother happened to get her I can not tell.” 

“ What fine gentleman was that you were riding with ?” 
said the old woman as Birdie came up the steps of the 
cottage. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


I 


“ It was Mr. Doctor,” said Birdie, shaking from head to 
foot. 

“ What were you riding with him for ? and what was he 
saying to you ?” 

Birdie had never told a lie, and she did not know how 
to commence one ; and she stood looking at the old hag 
without speaking. 

“Don’t you hear me,” said the old woman stamping 
her feet. ‘ ‘ I say, what was he saying to you ? Now if you 
don’t tell me I will kill you;” and she took Birdie by the 
hand and jerked her into the room, and she fell headlong 
upon the floor. 

“ Now will you tell?” said she, at the same time giving 
‘her a slap. 

“I will tell you granny,” said Birdie, choking back a 
sob, and rubbing her arm which was almost jerked out of 
place. 

“Tell it then.” 

“ He said you were a mean old hag.” 

“ What else ?” 

“And he said that you was a profistical beggar, that’s 
all.” 

‘ ‘And you have been talking to him about me, have 
you ; I suppose he will go to Veary Carlisle and tell him 
what you were doing.” 

“ He gave me some money,” said Birdie, thinking it 
would tone her down to see some of the shining ore. 


I 12 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


‘ 4 Where is it ?” 

Birdie took the money out of her bosom and gave it to 
her, saying, “That good Mr. Doctor gave it all to me.” 

“Good Mr. Doctor,” said she mockingly; “I will 
make you smart for this day’s work. You shall not have 
one mouthful to eat this day. What is that you’ve got 
under your arm ?” she continued, snatching the little bun- 
dle of dirty paper from her. 

“It is nothing but my doll. Please let me have it 
granny,” said she, sobbing. 

44 How dare you take the money and buy dolls with it, 
you little witch, you ! ” 

“ I did not give money for it,” said Birdie, “ it was a 
good gentleman who gave it to me.” 

“ Instead of you begging money, you were out all day 
begging dolls. Now, take that and that,” said she, boxing 
her poor little ears ; but she did not feel it much for they 
were frozen stiff. “ Now take yourself to the garret,” she 
continued, “and stay thereuntil I call you.” 

Poof little Birdie crept up to the dark garret cold and 
hungry, and there huddled down upon some straw and 
wrapped herself up in an old blanket, and cried herself to 
sleep ; and was soon dreaming of the good doctor who had 
been so kind to her. He came for and took her away from 
the old woman who had been so cruel, and took her to 
his own beautiful home — a perfect paradise, and she was 
so happy. Presently a shrill voice pierced her ear, and she 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. I 1 3 

awoke cold and hungry, and found herself in the dark, 
dreary garret, and the shrill, sharp voice of her tormenter 
still ringing in her ears. What a contrast to that beautiful 
home in dreamland. 

“Go out and pick up some chips,” said the woman, as 
Birdie came down numbed with cold and faint with 
hunger. 

Birdie went out and soon returned with a lap full of 
chips. 

“ Put it down and bring more, and don’t you stop until 
you get enough to last,” said she ; and again she laid her 
head back and commenced nodding. 

Again and again Birdie returned with her lap full of 
chips; it was all they had to burn, for the money that 
Veary had given her to buy coal, had been spent for whisky 
and it had all gone down the old woman’s throat. 

Veary only went home twice a week, as he lived so far 
from the office, and Judge Elmore requested him to remain 
at his house, that he might assist him with his studies 
through the long winter nights. So Veary consented to 
his proposal, not for his own special benefit alone, but to 
gratify the desire of his only true friend and benefactor, 
and he felt it his duty to obey him as he would a father; 
for he has been to him more than his father ever had ; but 
he never forgot his little adopted sister, no, never; and 
he always left money with granny to buy such things as 
she needed, and which Birdie never received. 


I 14 a BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

^ ^ /Js ^ /j^ ^ ^ <J^ ^ 

“What is the matter, Birdie? ” said a low voice close to 
where she was crouched upon the ground, with her hands 
rolled in her apron. She had picked up chips until her 
hands were nearly frozen, and she could no longer keep 
back the tears, in spite of all her granny’s threats. Birdie 
looked around and spied a pair of eyes shining through the 
crack of the fence. 

“Is that you, Jack?” 

“Yes, Birdie, it is me,” said the little crippled boy. 

‘ ‘ What is the matter ? Has that old woman been beating 
you again ? ” 

“Yes, Jack, and I am so cold and hungry.” 

“Poor little Birdie,” said Jack, with a tear coming into 
his honest eyes ; “here is a potato, eat it ; it will keep you 
from being so hungry.” 

Birdie took the potato and soon devoured it ; for she 
had not eaten any thing all day but a piece of stale bread 
and some black molasses. 

“Birdie,” said Jack, “ why don’t you run away and 
leave that mean old woman? I would not let her beat me 
any more.” 

“Where must I go, Jack?” * 

“Why, go to your Buddy Veary and tell him how she 
treats you, and he will run her off.” 

“She will kill me, Jack, if I do.” 

“No she won’t. She only tells you that to scare you.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. I 1 5 

“ O, Jack,” said she, clapping her hands together, 
‘‘I’ve dot something to tell you. You know that good 
Mr. Doctor they call St. George ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, he said that he is going to come and take me 
away from granny, and let me be his own little girl, and 
have a big fine house all to myself, and that I shall not beg 
any more. Won't that be grand? ” 

“I am so glad, ” said Jack. “When is he going to 
take you ? I hope it won’t be long first.” 

“Just as soon as he can see Buddy Veary — to-morrow, 
I ’spect.” 

Poor little Birdie had unconsciously spoken these words 
in an audible whisper, all unaware that through the key- 
hole a shajtp eye was watching, and quick ears Caught her 
every whispered word. 

“Ah, my young one,” said the old woman with a 
chuckle, “your plans will be frustrated for once. You will 
never see Veary Carlisle or Dr. St. George again, I will 
bet my life on that. This night I will set fire to the house, 
after selling every thing, and Veary will think that both 
Birdie and I are burnt up in it. Then I will take her and 
go to New Orleans, where I will buy an organ, and she 
shall support me by begging on the streets. I suppose I 
will have some trouble in getting her off with me ; but never 
mind, I’ll fix her. I will tell her that Veary is dead, and 
that she will have to go with me or she will be left alone in 


II 6 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

this old house to starve ; and that she will see ghosts every 
night with long, bony fingers and "red eyes ; and then she 
will be glad enough to go. I know this would be the last 
night that I would remain in this house if Veary Carlisle 
was to find out all — which he will — for I heard her say that 
Dr. St. George was to go to see him to-morrow ; and he 
will do it, for he is a man of his word. And then ! and 
then I am ruined ! I will have to starve in- my old age ; 
and to do without my liquor would be almost sudden death, 
and that I must have ! I must have! ” 


CHAPTER X. 


THE BIRD HAS FLOWN FROM ITS THORNY NEST, OR A NARROW 
ESCAPE. 

“ Sit down child and warm your fingers,” said Granny, 
Nailar as Birdie came into the room with the fifth lap full of 
chips, which was covered with snow and ice. Her face and 
hands were purple with cold, and the tears that trickled 
down her cheeks were freezing on their downward course, 
and making crystal paths through the coal-dust and smut. 

“Birdie,” she continued, “I have something very sad 
to tell you, and you must not take it hard, child ; you 
know we all have trouble, and I feel just as bad about it as 
you do.” 

“To tell me, granny?” said little Birdie, looking up in 
surprise and wondering what had come over the old hag. 

“ Yes, to tell you child, for you are the one to know it, 
that you may make up your mind to what course to take; 
as far as mine is concerned it is already made up. I shall 
leave this place to night.” 

“You going to leave, granny?” 

“Yes, going to leave, for your brother Veary is dead, 
and if we stay here we will starve ; and I am afraid to stay 

9 (i 17) 


Il8 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

here any way, for I saw a ghost last night standing right 
in that corner and I was frightened almost to death.” 

“O! granny! is my poor Buddy Veary dead?” said 
Birdie, clasping her little hands together, while her lips trem- 
bled like an aspen leaf. 

“Yes, he is dead,” said the old fiend, pretending to 
wipe a tear from her eyes. 

“ How come him dead ?” said Birdie with her hands 
still clasped in each other, and her eyes fixed upon the face 
of her would-be destroyer. 

“Why, he got drowned in the river this morning, 
while trying to save some little children from drowning/' 
and she put up her hands again, as if wiping a tear from 
her eyes. 

“Will I never see him no more, granny? Will he 
never come back to Birdie again?” 

“No, child, he will never come back again. Your 
poor brother is dead and gone ; his dear body is now lying 
beneath the deep, dark waters of the Ohio, and you are 
now my little girl. No hand can take you from me.” 

“ O ! granny ! ” said she, locking her little hands at the 
back of her head, and writhing in agony; “let me go to 
my Buddy Veary; let me go and speak to him, and then 
he won’t be dead. I know he won’t, granny, because he 
loves Birdie so. I will put my arms around him, and kiss 
him, and then he will live again. Can I go, granny, can 
I go ?” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. II9 

“ No, you can not go child. Now listen to me ; your 
brother is cold and dead, and is lying at the bottom of 
yonder river ; and he will never live again.” 

“But if I call him, he will hear his little Birdie and 
come to her; I know he will, granny, I know he will, ” 
cried the grief-stricken child, trying to choke back her 
grief, for it swelled up in her throat and seemed as if it 
would burst her very heart-strings asunder. Could she 
have poured out her grief in a flood of tears ; could she 
have laid her little head upon some friendly breast and 
wept out those scalding tears that blistered and burnt, and 
yet dared not find egress it would have relieved her 
aching heart. But she was afraid to cry. As she had 
never been permitted the blessed privilege of crying like 
other children, when her little heart was well nigh broken, 
and she felt to-night that she would not be granted that 
blessed privilege, as she had not been heretofore — not 
since the last time she laid her head upon her mother’s 
knee and wept herself to sleep. She stood for some mo- 
ments with her hands clasped over the top of her head, 
and swaying to and fro. Her eyes had a strange, wild 
look in them, and her face was purple, while her lips were 
of an ashy hue, and trembled violently. 

It would seem impossible that a child of her age should 
suffer such excruciating grief, such unutterable anguish 
without a wail. Finally she could bear it no longer ; she 
gave one agonizing scream, and then, as if she expected to 


120 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


be felled to the floor, she threw up her hands and ex- 
claimed, “O! granny, I could not help it, please let me 
cry. I will go out doors so you can’t hear me ; may I, 
granny?” 

The she-devil fearing that the child would lose her 
reason hastened to her and said, “Yes, child, cry if you 
want to, I won’t stop you from crying this time because 
your brother is dead ; and every body cries at such a time, 
and I can’t help from crying myself,” and she put up her 
handkerchief to her face and pretended to wipe the tears 
from her eyes. With this permission nature took its 
course, and the poor child wept out her grief, alone, with 
no tender hand to wipe the tear, nor a gentle voice to whis- 
per a word of comfort to her young, sorrowing heart. Her 
little white kitten sat mewing by her side ; now and then 
it would rise up on its hind feet, and rub its soft, white 
head against her wet cheeks and lick her tear-stained 
hands. 

“There, now, go to bed, young one, and try to get a 
little sleep, for we will have to be at the boat at seven in 
the morning, and if you don’t go to sleep you won’t feel 
like getting up. ” 

“Where am we going, granny? Am I going to that 
good Mr. Doctor, who said I should go home to his house 
and be his little girl? ” 

“No, you are not going to no good Mr. Doctor’s, as 
you call him. He don’t want you ; he has found his own 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


1 2 1 


little girl, and she is as much as he can take care of. You 
are goingwith me to a big, fine city, just like this one, and 
then we will make a plenty of money. I am going to buy 
you an organ, and you won’t have any thing to do but to 
sit on the streets and play, and then take round your cup, 
which will be a big red one, with big black letters on it, 
and will read this way: ‘ Help the little blind girl.’ ” 

“Will I be blind, granny?” said Birdie, sobbing. 

“You will be if you don’t quit crying. I’ve heard of 
little girls going blind from crying, ” she replied. 

“Well, I won’t cry any more, then; ’cause I don’t want 
to be blind. I want to see Buddy Veary when I goes to 
heaven.” 

“What if I did have a little blind girl,” said the old 
fiend, nervously. “ Why she would be a fortune to me ! 
She would arouse the symphathies of the public, and they 
would bestow their charity in abundance. Could I fix her 
so she could not see? Yes; and I will this very night. It 
will help to get me through to New Orleans. The passen- 
gers on the boat will throw in to her, and by these means 
I can work my way through.” 

“You can sleep down here with me to-night,” said she 
to Birdie, who had arisen and was creeping up the garret 
steps trembling with cold. 

This was not welcome news to poor little Birdie, for she 
preferred being alone in the cold dark garret to sleeping in 
the same room with her. So she insisted that she should 


i 


122 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


sleep in the garret, to which granny consented, and the little 
castaway crept up in the loft and laid herself down upon 
her little straw bed ; not to sleep, but to plan how she should 
escape the old woman, and not go to New Orleans. “I 
wish I could see Jack to-night,” said she, “I know he 
would take me where Buddy Veary is, and then I would 
make him live again ; and then I would not have to go with 
granny. O, I can not go ! I can not go if she kills me ! I 
will run away this night, and she shall never find me.” 

With this resolution she arose and went to the window 
and looked out upon the snow-laden ground, and she 
shuddered with cold and fear as she looked with a longing 
eye toward the river that held her only treasure on earth. 
What was she to do without him ? Should she always 
spend her days with that mean old woman? Was she to 
be made a beggar, and sit upon the streets to grind an or- 
gan to get money tor the old woman to buy whisky with, 
and never go to school nor to church like other little girls ? 
Buddy Veary had promised to send her to school the next 
session, and she was so delighted ; and now she was never 
to see inside of a schoolhouse, or to go to church again. 

With these thoughts burning in her breast, she made 
her way down stairs ; and when she reached the bottom 
she trembled for fear the old woman would awake and dis- 
cover her; but to her delight and astonishment no one was 
in the house, and every thing had been packed up and 
taken away to the second-hand store to sell, even Birdie’s 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 23 

best dresses ; and the bed upon which the old woman slept 
had been taken away, and a pile of straw lay in its stead. 

“She is all packed up,” said Birdie to herself, “and 
she will take me away just as soon as day comes, and I 
will never see my Buddy Veary again, nor that good Mr. 
Doctor, nor Jack. ” 

She opened the door and looked out. A chill crept 
over her, and her teeth chattered together, for the wind 
was cold and piercing, and howled dismally as it swept 
along, carrying with it sheets of drifting snow. 

“ I will go now,” said she; “ I will go and find Buddy 
Veary this very night.” And she turned and looked her 
last upon the dark, cold, dreary room where she had known 
nothing but want and suffering and sorrow ; and to-night 
it looked more dismal to her than the white-robed trees, 
and snow-laden earth over which she would have to travel ; 
and the winds whistling round the corners and rattling the 
windows, sounded more hideous than the tales of the 
Arabian Nights. The winding waters murmured in 
tranquil measure on their way, and the star of Bethlehem 
shown down in holy, solemn peace, for it was Christmas 
eve, and Santa Claus was going from house to house, 
making joyous hearts and smiling faces. But, alas ! no 
Santa Claus came to make glad the heart of this lonely 
little pedestrian. There were no little stockings hanging 
by the fireplace, and no bright eyes were peeping from 
beneath the coverlet to see him come down the chimney. 


124 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


As Birdie stood upon the lonely doorsteps, she thought 
of the thousands of little hearts that would be made happy 
in the morning; but she did not envy them, and only said 
with a smile, “ I know if Buddy Veary was here old Santa 
Claus would bring Birdie something too.” Then she 
thought of her doll that she had left in the garret, and she 
felt that she had left a part of herself, so she hastened to 
get it, and before she reached the door again, she heard 
the unsteady footsteps of the old woman tramping up the 
steps. Lucky for Birdie that the fire had died out, and 
the candle had expired, and there was no light in the 
room, for she crouched down by the door and Granny 
Nailar passed her as she came in and made her way to a 
little brown jug that was sitting in the corner of the room, 
and which had been her companion for years. 

Birdie snatched her opportunity, and as the old woman 
turned the jug to her lips she opened the door, and in 
another moment she was speeding like a wild deer through 
the streets, with the snow flying into her face, and filling 
up her tracks as fast as she made them. Upon her lips 
was a smile of joy sweeter than lies in words. There was 
a light in her deep, spiritual eyes that had never been 
there before; and her thoughts were sweeter than any 
poet’s song or romancist’s story could have told her. She 
was free as a wild bird in the forest. She would go and 
find her brother, and she knew when she put her arms 
around his neck and called him, he would answer her, and 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 2 5 , 

he would live again ; and they would go together to the 
good doctor who had been so kind to her, and who had 
promised to take her for his own little girl, and there they 
would be happy, and granny would not be there to beat 
her and make her beg. Finally she reached the river, and 
for hours she walked up and down its banks crying, and 
moaning pitifully as she cried aloud, ‘ ‘ O, my Buddy 
Veary, come to me, come to your Birdie, and then you 
won’t be dead. O, come to me now ; I ain’t got no home,, 
nobody to love me. I will always be a good girl.” 

But Veary Carlisle did not hear his little sister; he was 
fast asleep, and dreaming of a little girl crossing a dark 
and turbulent river, and he was endeavoring to save her 
from falling into the water. 

As Birdie stood cold and trembling upon the banks of 
the Ohio, on that dark and dreary night, little did she 
know what a terrible fate she had escaped. 

As the poisonous snake steals dark and noiseless 
through the gentle night, where none beholds its pestilen- 
tial trail, Granny Nailar stole up the dark stairway, while 
like the death hiss of the snake gliding to destroy, the 
whisper hissed from her set lips, “You shall never behold 
the light of another day ! Veary Carlisle shall never see 
you again ! never ! never ! for when you are blind you 
can not leave me, and you can beg enough to support us 
both ; besides, I can always have my dram.” 


126 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


She went up to the pile of straw where Birdie had been 
lying, and put her fingers in the cup and took out a por- 
tion of the pulverized glass, which she had prepared to put 
in little Birdie’s eyes, and set the cup down carefully that 
she might not disturb the sleeper, for Birdie was sleeping 
soundly, she thought. It seemed that she could hear her 
loud breathing, as she stealthily laid her hand upon the 
cover and found only the sleeping cat — Birdie’s little white 
cat, which had been her bedfellow from its kittenhood. 

The old woman hissed a curse as she gathered the 
sleeping cat by the neck and threw it down the steps. She 
was foiled in her devilish plan, for the bird had flown from 
its thorny nest, and the hawk was cheated of its prey. She 
called loudly to her, but no sound stirred the silence, save 
the hollow echos of her own hideous voice. “Where are 
you, Birdie? Come to me this- minute, do you hear? 
Birdie! Birdie!” 

“Curse her!” she hissed, as she descended the dark 
stairway. “She has run away, and if I ever find her I will 
pay her up.” “Ah, my lady, said she, turning up the jug, 
her only comforter, “if I ever get my hands on you, you 
will never have the opportunity of running off again. She 
has gone up to Jack’s mother’s, I expect; for I heard him 
tell her to come to him and he would take her to Veary 
Carlisle, and I must be up early in the morning and go 
after her, the little witch; and I will give that Jack Ham- 
bleton a sound beating the first time I catch him off.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


127 


With this she rolled herself in an old blanket and stretched 
herself before the fire, for she had nothing to sleep on, as 
she had sold her bed. 

It was one o’clock when the fire alarm was sounded 
from box — . The fire company arrived as soon as possi- 
ble, but too late. It was a great distance out, and before 
they reached the spot, the cottage that held the form of 
Granny Nailar was melting into coals, and the white bones 
of the drunken beast lay white and crisp, but her little 
brown jug remained at her side, and seemed to smile down 
upon her hideous form and whisper, “Not drunk, but 
dead.” Retribution had come at last. “Vengeance is 
mine,” saith the Lord. 


CHAPTER XI. 


VEARY CARLISLE MOURNS OVER THE LOSS OF HIS LITTLE 
BIRDIE. 

It was twelve o’clock on the night of Birdie’s escape 
from the cottage when Veary retired with a tired brain to 
his couch. He had studied very hard that night, unusu- 
ally hard, for the rapid progress he was making with his 
studies pleased the old judge, and he did not hesitate to 
tell him so ; for he slapped him on the shoulder that same 
morning, saying, “I hope I shall be proud of you one 
day, my boy, for I see you have no ordinary mind, and if 
you will apply yourself and make the best use of your 
time, you will one day be an honor to your profession. I 
am now going to give you an opportunity of showing what 
kind of grit you are made of. I have hired me an office 
boy, and you no longer hold that position, but will go up 
to my study and prepare yourself for college ; for I expect 
to send you to the law school in Philadelphia next session, 
where you will remain until you graduate.” 

Veary Carlisle’s eyes opened wide, and his lips sprang 
apart, while his heartbeat rapidly. He arose from his seat 
trembling with joy and excitement, and with a glad light 
(128) 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


129 


blazing in his eyes ; a light that reflected itself upon the 
eyeglasses that stuck upon the tip of Judge Elmore’s nose, 
and which carried him back to the days of yore. Veary 
grasped the old judge’s hand and tried to tell him how 
grateful he was, and how he would try to make himself 
worthy of this honor ; and one day he hoped to be able to 
repay the hospitality received at his hands ; but he could 
not utter one word if his life depended upon it, but the 
pent-up tears of gratitude streamed down his cheeks and 
dropped upon the hand of his benefactor as he stooped and 
pressed it to his lips ; and the grateful look in his honest, 
open eyes spoke out what the lips refused to utter. This 
much the judge saw and knew. 

“I feel amply rewarded,” said the old judge, wiping a 
tear from his own eye, as he grasped Veary ’s hand more 
firmly. ‘ ‘ The grateful look in those honest eyes of yours 
has repaid me already; besides it is a duty that I owe to 
your father ; and if you will sit down, my boy, I will tell 
you a little story which will probably be beneficial to you, 
and you will see that you are not the only boy that has 
had a hard time. Perhaps you think that the hard times 
which you experience are the hardest times that have ever 
come to any one; and so they are, for you. But you 
only need to read the biographies of thousands who have 
lived, and died, and passed away, to learn that it is not 
only you, or two, or three out of the teeming millions 
who have a hard time. Hard times have been perpetually 


130 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


coming to all nations, in all periods of their existence. 
And so have good times, and so have chances for honest 
people to better their conditions. There never was a 
night that was not followed by a day, nor a storm that 
was not followed by a calm. The sun is forever shining 
in the heavens, and the clouds which sometimes obscure 
his rays are sure to break and disperse, no matter how 
dark and threatening they may be for a time. The brave- 
hearted, that hope on, and work on, need never despair. 
It is for the want of bravery and courage that every day 
sends to their graves hundreds of men — obscure men, who 
have only remained in obscurity because timidity has 
prevented them from making a first effort, and who, if they 
could have been induced to begin, would in all probability 
have gone great lengths in the career of fame. The fact 
is, that to do any thing in this world worth doing, we 
must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold 
and danger, but jump in and scramble through as well as 
we can. It will not do to be perpetually calculating risks 
and adjusting good chances, and waiting for something to 
turn up ; it did very well before the flood, when a man 
could consult his friends upon an intended publication for 
a hundred years, and then live to see its success afterward ; 
but at present a man waits and doubts, and consults his 
brother and his particular friends, till one day he finds 
that he is fifty years of age ; that he has lost so much time 
in consulting his first-cousins and particular friends that he 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 3 1 

has no more time to follow their advice. We are all born 
to some purpose in life, and if every one would consult 
his own taste and inclination, and follow the dictates of his. 
heart he will soon find out what his vocation is. This 
much I know by experience. I was once a poor boy just 
like yourself,” the old judge added, resting his chin upon 
his gold-headed cane. “Yes, poor and friendless — I won’t 
say friendless, either, for I had some very dear friends, and 
they were friends indeed, firm and substantial. My par- 
ents were poor but honorable people, and lived in the 
State of Virginia. My father was a small planter, and had 
three or four old negroes, and with their help tilled his 
farm, which was principally in tobacco, and from which he 
supported his little family, which consisted of only three 
persons — my father and mother and myself, a boy of ten 
years when my father died, leaving his wife and child 
without a farthing, for he had mortgaged his little farm to 
go into some enterprise with a partner who ran away with 
the money, leaving my poor father a wiser but a sadder 
man. For two years my mother and I struggled together 
alone in a little log cabin ; sometimes we would have some- 
thing to eat, and sometimes we would not, but we man- 
aged to get along somehow ; I can’t tell you exactly how, 
until one cold, bitter day I came home and found my poor 
mother prostrate with pneumonia, which carried her to her 
last resting place ; leaving her only child without home or 
friends. So I was taken by the officials of the law and 


132 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

bound out until I became twenty-one years of age. Well, 

I was bound to a man, who was by trade a carpenter, and 
who, by every strategy, tried to instill it into my brains, 
but he failed to do it, and would often get vexed at me, 
and finally gave up the job, and called me a clog-headed 
fool. You see,” said the old judge, smiling, “ that I was 
not made for an architect. So he tried me on farming, 
which proved as unsatisfactory as the carpenter’s trade, 
for he never could teach me to plow a straight furrow, and 
to my dying day I shall never forget the sound thrashing 
he gave me upon his return home after six weeks’ absence 
and found the corn and potatoes choked to death with the 
grass and weeds, while I was perched upon my plow- 
handles reading an old law book that I had found in the 
garret ; how it came there, is a mystery to me ; I suppose 
it got lodged there in the flood ; at any rate, it could not 
have brought me a more congenial companion, for I tell 
you,” he exclaimed bringing his fist down upon the table 
with a crash, ‘ ‘ it was my thought by day, and my dream 
by night. And many were the hours I whiled away with 
that old centurion, as I lay upon a hay-stack, with my 
heels elevated above the level of my nose, or perched 
upon an over-hanging rock, which looked into the old mill- 
pond, and from which many a foot had leaped into the 
water, and dived to its very depths. Ah, I can never for- 
get that old mill,” he said half mournfully ; “ it is there 
still, but many of the bare feet have long since ended the 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


133 


journey of life. It seems that I can see the old mill now, 
with its deep, dark flume, and the mysterious old wheel 
covered with moss ; and its arms swinging around, making 
a wreath of gold in the sunlight. Ah, it would be worth 
worlds to sport again in that cool stream with the light of 
childhood in my heart, and its vigor in my limbs ; but I 
am wandering far from my story now, Veary, as I gener- 
ally do when I speak of my boyhood- days, although they 
were far from being happy ones, for like you, Veary, I had 
hard times to deal with. I had very few companions ; in 
fact there was only one boy of my age in the neighbor- 
hood that I cared the snap of my finger for, and that was 
your father, Julius Carlisle.” 

“My father ! ” said Veary, and a light seemed to spread 
over his whole countenance. 

“Yes, your father,” said the judge, smiling at the sud- 
den lighting up of Veary ’s face when his father’s name was 
mentioned. “Your father and I were great friends,” he 
continued. “ Whatever Tom Elmore did was all right in 
the eyes of Julius Carlisle, and what Julius Carlisle did 
was perfection in the eyes of Tom Elmore. His father 
was a very large planter, and lived in one of the most fer- 
tile valleys of Virginia, and his neat stone cottage and well- 
tilled farm were the pride of the people of that section. 
And Farmer Carlisle, your grandfather, was one of the 
most generous-hearted men that ever lived; for no tramp 
was ever known to be turned away from his door hungry, 

10 


134 A beautiful bird without a name. 

and in preparing her meals the good old wife was always 
wont to put in a liberal allowance, saying, in her quiet way, 

4 It won’t be lost — somebody will be sure to come along 
hungry, poor soul.’ And she told the truth, for every 
tramp within fifty miles knew just where Farmer Carlisle 
lived, and they always made it convenient to call just at 
meal-time, for they knew they would get a nice, warm meal, 
wipe their mouths, tip their hats, and disappear. One night 
Farmer Carlisle and his good old wife were sitting around 
their happy fireside listening to their only son, Julius Car- 
lisle, reading a catalogue of the Philadelphia Law School, 
when they heard a knock upon the door without; though 
it was hardly heard by those within, for the wind was howl- 
ing dismally around the house, and the snow was drifting 
heavily against the windows. Presently a low growl from 
Hero told them that it was no delusion, and the old gen- 
tleman arose and went to the door. 

“ ‘ Good evening, Mr. Carlisle,’ said a gosling-like voice, 
as he opened the door, and the wind and snow came sweep- 
ing into the house. 

“‘Well, well, Tommy,’ said Farmer Carlisle, as he 
hurriedly closed the door, ‘come in, my boy. Arn’t you 
nearly frozen ? ’ 

“ ‘ Its pretty cold, ’ exclaimed the boy, shaking oft the 
snow. ‘ Is Julius at home? I heard that he was going to 
start to Philadelphia to school in a few days, and I wanted 
to see him before he left. ’ 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


135 


'“‘Yes, yes, he is at home/ said the old gentleman. 
‘Come, Julius, here is your friend Tom.’ 

‘ ‘ The two boys shook hands, and Tom was given a good, 
warm seat by the fire, as he exclaimed, ‘ I was afraid you 
would get off, Julius, before I could see you, and to-night 
was my only opportunity to come. When will you leave 
for Philadelphia?’ 

“‘I shall leave on the 18th,’ said Julius, as he looked 
straight into the fire. He was afraid to look in poor Tom’s 
eyes, for he saw that Tom was trying to choke something 
back, and a tear was struggling for egression, although he 
tried to look brave. 

‘ ‘ There was silence for some minutes, when J ulius arose 
and said, ‘ Come, Tom, let us go up to my room. I want 
to show you my new outfit father bought me the other 
day. I know you will like it, for it is the best fit I ever 
had.’ 

‘ ‘ Tom arose and followed his companion up to his room, 
and felt thankful that Julius had taken him off to them- 
selves, where he would not be ashamed of his tears. Tom 
took a seat upon the bed while James spread out his new 
suit before him ; almost any other boy would have envied 
Julius, but Tom did not, although his own coat was out at 
the elbow, and had been darned with homespun thread 
which had been dyed with gallberries and sumac by the 
hands of old Mrs. Belgrove. 

“ After every thing had been shown, and Tom’s criticism 


136 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

had been passed, Julius slapped him on the shoulder and 
exclaimed, ‘ Well, old fell’, I hate to leave you ; I wish 
you could go, Tom, for I know if you had an opportunity 
you would make a smart man ; much smarter than I ever 
will, for my head is as thick as a pumpkin. Beside, I 
know that you have a talent for law. What have you 
done with that old law-book, Tom, you used to read so 
much? I believe that was what put me in the notion to 
study law.’’ ’ 

“ ‘ Why, that old Belgrove threw it in the fire and burnt 
it up,’ said Tom, and the tears gushed out afresh. ‘And 
what do you think, Julius,’ he continued, rubbing his 
rough coat-sleeve across his eyes, “ he has hired me out 
to that old General Crumpton, to blow the bellows in the 
blacksmith shop for three years, and so I am not to go to 
school any more, but to be a drudge and a slave, until I 
am twenty-one, and I had rather die, yes, I had rather 
die, Julius,” and the tears came in torrents down his 
cheeks. 

“ ‘Poor Tom,’ said Julius, sorrowfully, ‘ I feel so sorry 
for you, old fell, and he laid his arm around his shoulder. 

‘ I’m goingto try and see if father can’t help you; and I 
know he can, for if any man can do any thing with Bel- 
grove it is he, for he thinks that the sun rises and sets in 
father. ’ 

“ ‘ O! I’m going to run away, Julius ! I have every 
thing fixe,d up and I am going to leave to-morrow night.' 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


137 


“ ‘ Where are you going, Tom ?’ 

1 ‘ ‘ I am going to Kentucky. I shall walk from here to 
Huntington ; there I will take a boat and make my way 
through to Cincinnati ; then I shall take a boat from there 
to Louisville where I shall get work, and I am going to 
take care of every cent I can make, and when I get enough 
ahead to pay my board for one years’ schooling, I am go- 
ing to school; besides I shall study at night. You know 
they have night schools for young men, Julius. I am 
going to have an education if it takes a whole lifetime, ’ he 
added excitedly ; ‘ other boys have worked their way up, 
and so can I‘ I can not, and I will not, be a drudge and 
a slave for any man.’ 

“‘That is right, Thomas,’ exclaimed a voice, as the 
door opened and Farmer Carlisle walked into the room. 

‘ I did not mean to eavesdrop, boys,’ said he, ‘ but never- 
theless I did it ; and I am glad I did, for I always knew 
you were made of good grit, Tom, just like your father, 
but poor man, he had bad luck on all sides. Now I am 
going to give you a bit of advice, as I am older 
than you are a few years. Don’t you run away from Bel- 
grove and I will see what I can do for you. Do you un- 
derstand me ? ’ 

tl ‘Yes, sir, ’ said Tom, ‘ I will obey you,’ wondering 
what it was that Farmer Carlisle was going to do for him. 

Tom was very much surprised the next day, when he 
came home to dinner, to find Belgrove and his wife in 


138 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

such high spirits; for they laughed and chatted all through 
the meal, which was something unusual for them to do, as the 
old man was always very grum and hardly spoke through 
his meals, unless there was too much soda in the biscuit, 
or the bread was not brown enough. 

“ ‘ I don’t know what I shall wear, Jake,’ said the old 
lady, ‘ for they are such high-toned folks, and I hate to go 
there looking shabby. ’ 

‘ ‘ * High-toned ! The devil and Tom Walker ! ’ exclaimed 
her husband gruffly. ‘ They are as plain as we are ; only 
old Carlisle has got plenty of money and lives in a fine 
house ; but I would not give his big toe for one half of the 
cracked-up fools in the neighborhood. He is a sensible 
man, and a man, too, that I like.’ 

‘ I wonder if there will be many there ?’ soliloquized the 
wife as she poured out the third cup of coffee for her hus- 
band. 

‘ Many ! the dog’s foot ; why, Mary, didn’t you read 
the ticket ? Where is it ?’ 

‘ ‘ ‘ Here it is, ” said the good wife, going down into a two- 
foot pocket, and bringing out an envelope. 

“ ‘Now listen,’ said Belgrove, ‘ you women are so hard 
to understand things, its a wonder to me how Adam ever 
got Eve to understand that he was boss ’ 

“Friend Belgrove: We would be pleased to have you and your bet- 
ter half to come and spend the evening with us. Julius has set his heart 
on having a little party before leaving for Philadelphia, and I have gone 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 39 

against the rules of the church and consented to let them dance. You 
can join in also if you wish. As for myself, I expect to open the ball 
with the prettiest girl in the house. Don’t forget to bring Tom, for you 
know he is Julius’s shadow. 

William Carlisle.” 

“ 1 He writes like a sensible man/ exclaimed Belgrove, 
folding up the paper and placing it in his pocket book. 
He has none of your all-fired tomfoolery about it — with 
compliments of so-and-so to Mr. and Mrs. so-and-so.’ 

‘ 1 1 But it doesn’t say whether there will be many or few, ’ 
put in his wife.’ . 

“ ‘ O, fiddlesticks, Mary, didn’t it say a little party ; and 
I’m sure little means few. Now, I’m not goin’ to any ex- 
pense, for your bumbazine dress is plenty good enough, and 
you have not had it more than three years ; look at me, I 
have n’t had a new suit for over five. ’ 

The evening of the party came on, and the family, all 
rigged out in their Sunday clothes, seated themselves in the 
spring wagon, and Belgrove and his wife, and with Tom, 
set out for the first time in thirty years to attend a party. 
It was Tom’s first party, too, and all the way he was think- 
ing what it would be like ; while Belgrove was wondering 
if farmer Carlisle would have apple or peach brandy, for 
the latter he was particularly fond of. Then he would 
commence whistling a little familiar tune, and his mind 
would wander back to his boyhood days, when he and 
Mary used to dance the old Virginia reel together. 


140 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


“‘Well, here we are, ’ exclaimed Belgrove, jumping- 
from the wagon in front of farmer Carlisle’s residence > 

‘ and by-jingo, if the house ain’t full and running over ; 
and yonder comes old Carlisle dressed in an inch of his 
life. This looks like a little party, don’t it! I’m sorry I 
come. Well, we are here now and can’t back out — jump 
out, old woman,’ and he glanced down at himself and then 
at his wife’s faded bumbazine. ‘You look all right, ’ he 
exclaimed, trying to make his better half feel more com- 
fortable in her bumbazine. 

“ ‘Did I say any thing about my looks?’ she exclaimed 
pettishly. ‘ I guess that I am just as good as any body 
here, if I arn’t dressed so fine; and I don’t care the snap of 
my finger for them frizzle-headed fools that is standing yon- 
der giggling at me. As for me, I shall go in the dining- 
room and help poor Mrs. Carlisle, for I know she must be 
tired. ’ 

“Well, every thing passed off smoothly. The supper 
was fine, and the brandies and wines were delicious, and 
the dancing was kept up until ten o’clock the next morn- 
ing, and Belgrove and his good old lady, who was made 
superintendent of the dining-room, declared they had never 
spent such a pleasant time in all their lives. And ’mid all 
the happy faces, Tom’s was the happiest and his heart was 
the lightest; for Mr. Carlisle had taken him to one side 
and whispered in his ear that all was right. ‘ Belgrove has 
given you entirely into my charge, ’ said he, ‘ and I am 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. I41; 

going to send you off to school with Julius, where you 
will remain until you graduate.’ 

“I shall not attempt to describe Tom’s feelings,” said 
the old judge, leaning back in his chair, “ for you know ex- 
actly how he felt, as you have passed through the very same 
ordeal. But, at any rate, the two boys came back gradu- 
ates just three years from that day. Julius and Tom re- 
mained home for a short vacation, and then they separated. 
Julius went to Richmond, Va., to practice law, and I wan- 
dered down here to Louisville, Ky., where I have spent 
the most of my time, when I was not traveling in other 
quarters of the world.” 

“You!” exclaimed Veary, in astonishment. “Are 
you and Tom the same person, Judge Elmore?” 

“Yes, Veary, I am that same Tom. And you see I 
am under obligations to your father and your grandfather, 
for the good old man would not receive a cent from me, 
though I sent him a check for two thousand dollars, which 
he sent back with the words, ‘ Hurry and get you a wife, 
and come and spend the summer with us, for we are very 
lonely ; ’ and I intended doing as he requested, but some 
how time passed on, and found me still in my bachelor- 
hood. Well, the old people died pretty soon after that, 
and I never heard from your father any more, until I saw 
his only child homeless and friendless, and I thank God for 

directing the child of my benefactor to my protecting 
>> 


care. 


142 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


“Cast your bread upon the waters, and it will return 
after many days.” 

Veary was up very early the next morning, and made 
his way to the study, although he had not slept much that 
night. For hours he lay awake thinking of the new life 
that was opening before him ; and thinking of little Birdie, 
and what he should do with her during his absence — the 
little Birdie whose life he had risked his own to save — and 
who his dying mother had laid in his young arms to love, 
shield, and protect. It seemed that the old judge had en- 
tirely forgotten Veary’s little charge, for he had not men- 
tioned her while planning for Veary’s future career. But 
Veary had never for a moment forgotten his little foster 
sister, and many were the sleepless hours he passed toss- 
ing from side to side, as he tried to think of some way of 
providing for his little Birdie. “ She must have an educa- 
tion,” said he, “and if I were making money I could do 
it; but she will have to be taken care of while I am at 
school. She will have to go to the orphan asylum,” he 
exclaimed, and the tears came into his eyes and dropped 
upon his pillow; for he could see her little sad face when 
he would have to tell her of their parting, and could al- 
most feel her little arms around his neck begging him not 
to leave her ; and he lay there trying, if possible, to lose 
himself in oblivion and shut out the thoughts from his 
mind. And when he did drop off to sleep, ’twas only to 
dream of all kinds of horrible things. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


143 


While Veary was bending over his studies the next 
morning, a gentle tap came upon the door. He arose and 
opened the door, and was surprised to see Dr. St. George 
standing before him. 

‘ ‘ Good morning, doctor, ” said he ; ‘ ‘ come in and have 
a seat. The judge has not yet arisen ; I will send for him.” 

“ I did not call to see the judge,” said the doctor, grave- 
ly, “ but to see you.” 

“To see me ? ” exclaimed V eary in surprise. 

“ Yes,” replied the doctor, “ to see you on some very 
important business, important to one soul at least ; and I 
hope you will not think that I am meddling with your 
affairs, or troubling myself where it does not concern me, 
for I feel a deep interest in your welfare, Veary, and for 
the welfare of your little sister.” 

“My little sister?” exclaimed Veary, excitedly; “is 
she sick, doctor ? ” 

“Not unless she has been taken ill since I saw her in 
my office last evening ; but I would not be surprised if you 
were to hear of her death at any time, for she is liable to 
be knocked down and killed at any moment by vehicles 
and street-cars.” 

“I do not understand you, doctor,” said Veary, turning 
red in the face, and then white, as his fingers worked 
nervously with the door-knob. 

“ I know you do not, my boy,” said the doctor, ten- 
derly, “and I will be more explicit. Did you know that 


144 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


the old woman in whose keeping you have placed your 
little sister compels her to go out in the streets every day, 
and in all kinds of weather, to beg money to buy whisky 
to pour down her throat? ” 

“ No, I did not,” said Veary ; “ this is the first I have 
heard about it. Surely it can not be true, you must have 
been misinformed, doctor. It can not be true, for she 
seems to love Birdie as dearly as if she were her own child. 

I never saw her under the influence of liquor but once in 
my life, and then I threatened to send her away if I ever 
caught her so again, and she promised me she would never 
touch it again.” 

“To my certain knowledge it is true,” said Dr. St. 
George, “ for Birdie has been a constant visitor at my of- 
fice, and it was from her own lips that I heard her story. I 
did not know who the child was, though I had taken a 
great fancy to her, and was always glad to see the little 
thing come ; she seemed to be such an intelligent child, 
and so unlike other children I have seen on the streets beg- 
ging. There was something about her that attracted me 
to her, and my heart went out to the child ; so one day I 
took her upon my lap and questioned her. She at first 
hesitated to tell me any thing, but finally I won her confi- 
dence ; and she told me that Veary Carlisle was her 
brother, and when I asked her why she did not tell you, 
she replied, ‘ Because granny will kill me/ She also told 
me that the old woman beat her severely if she went home 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


145 


without any money, and this she confirmed by showing 
me the scars upon her little back which I examined.” 

This was too much for poor Veary, and he exclaimed, 
“ My God, can it be true ? ” 

“ It is true,” said Dr. St. George, “and I have taken 
it upon myself to come and tell you, and I feel that I have 
performed a duty in doing so.” 

“You have done me a great kindness, doctor,” said 
Veary, “and I feel so grateful to you. I can not tell you 
how much I thank you.” 

And he arose from his seat, with the blood boiling in 
his veins, and his eyes flashing fire, as he grasped his hat 
and was about to rush from the room, when Dr. St. George 
laid his hand upon his shoulder, and said, “Where are 
you going, Veary?” 

“I am going to kill that old hag,” he exclaimed, “I 
am going to choke the very life out of her infernal old 
body.” 

“ You must not, Veary,” said the doctor; “ you must 
remain here until your excitement somewhat subsides, for 
if you were to kill her your life would be ruined forever, 
even should you escape the penalty of the law. Now sit 
down and listen to me, and act like a sensible boy, which I 
know you are, and all things will come out right.” 

Veary took a seat by Dr. St. George as he bade him 
do, and said, “ Well, doctor, I am willing to follow your 
advice, for I know that you will advise me for the best.” 


146 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


“Weil,” said the doctor, “in the first place, do not 
touch that old woman, notwithstanding she deserves to be 
choked ; retribution will come upon her and she will be 
justly punished for her wickedness. Judge Elmore tells 
me that he intends to send you off to school, and if he 
does, I will take care of your little sister. It will not do 
to leave her with that old woman.” 

‘ ‘ O, doctor, you are so kind, how can I ever thank 
you. Only last night I could not sleep for thinking of her. 
Now, she will not have to go to the orphan asylum,” ex- 
claimed Veary, and a happy expression came over his 
countenance, which only a moment ago was distorted 
with passion. 

“ Do not thank me,” said he, “ for it will be a pleasure 
to me to have her in my house ; besides, if you are will- 
ing, I will adopt her for my own, and I will educate her 
and will raise her up right. She shall never want for any 
thing that money can buy, and whenever you may wish 
to visit her, come and make your home with her as long 
as you may desire.” 

“ You have my full consent, and my gratitude for your 
kind offer. Take her, Dr. St. George, but teach her to 
love me, and do not let her forget me. I know you can 
do better by her than I can ; and she will be just the same 
to me, but when I am gone tell her of me, and don’t let 
her forget me.” 

“ I will,” said the doctor, rising, “and I would like to 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


147 


go and get her immediately, ; I want to deprive that old 
hag of her morning dram.” 

“We will go at once,” said Veary, “ I will be back be- 
fore the judge rises; he never gets up until nine o’clock, 
and always takes his breakfast in his room.” 

So they took their seats in the doctor’s barouche and 
were soon making their way in the direction of the cottage 
that Veary called his home. 

“It seems that a house was burnt there last night,” 
said Dr. St. George, as he came in sight of a pile of smok- 
ing coals. “And there is a strange smell about the prem- 
ises ; to be sure there was no one burnt in the house.” 

He felt something heavy against him and looking 
around was surprised to see Veary Carlisle lying white 
and stiff against his shoulder. 

“What could have made him faint!” exclaimed the 
doctor, as he bore him in his arms to the first cottage he 
came to. * ‘ It must have been the scent of that burning 
flesh ; it is terrible, I wonder what it is?” 

“ It is terrible, it is perfectly awful ! ” exclaimed an old 
lady, as she placed a cold towel around Veary’s head. 
“Poor boy, poor boy, it is enough to make him faint. I 
have been looking out for him all the morning, and would 
have sent for him but my little crippled boy was sick, and 
I had no one to send.” 

“ Do you know this boy, madam?” said the doctor. 

“ Yes,” replied the old lady, “ I have seen him pass 


1 48 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

my house very often, and he was so good to my little crip- 
pled boy, and he loved his little sister so dearly. Poor lit- 
tle fellow, it is a great blow to him.” 

“ What do you mean, madam ?” exclaimed the doctor, 
I don’t understand you; has anything serious hap- 
pened?” 

“O, Ithoughtyou knew all about it,” said she. “Why, 
old Granny Nailar, as they call her, and little Birdie, 
Veary’ s sister, were burnt up in the cottage last night, and 
that is what you smell. Isn’t it just terrible ?” 

“ Merciful Heaven ! exclaimed Dr. St. George; “can 
it be possible ?” 

The conversation seemed to arouse Veary and he began 
to realize what had happened, and he sprang from the 
sofa where the good doctor had laid him cold and lifeless 
a few minutes before, and exclaimed in a hoarse, unnatural 
voice, “Mrs. Wilson, have I been dreaming? am I mad or 
is it true, that my poor little Birdie was burnt up in that 
cottage last night? O, tell me quick! let me know all.” 

The kind hearted old lady laid her trembling hand upon 
his shoulder, as the tears trickled down her old withered 
cheeks, and said, gently, “ My poor boy, it is true. Your 
little sister is in heaven, where neither fire nor snow can 
enter.” 

“ O, God!” said the sorrow-stricken Veary, and again 
he was lying a lifeless mass in Dr. St. George’s arms. 

The doctor took him home to his kind benefactor, 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


149 


where he lay for many weeks, with the fever burning his 
brain, and raving like a maniac, calling all the while for 
his darling little Birdie ; his lost, lost Birdie. 

Dr. St. George attended him faithfully, and many were 
the days and nights he sat by the bedside of this sorrow- 
stricken boy, and listened to his pitiful moans ; and many 
were the silent tears that were wrung from his own bleed- 
ing heart, whose w’ounds had been opened afresh. 

After many weeks of painfull illness, he was able to go 
out of the house and sit beneath the shade of the large 
elm-tree that seemed to stand like a protecting angel be- 
tween him and the sun’s scorching rays ; for winter had 
laid aside its white robe of snow and ice, and spring had 
come again with all its radiance. But what was spring to 
him now ? or what was the beautiful world to him, when 
he had nothing to live or work for? and no memories save 
the sweet young face which had passed from him forever, 
and the flowers that hung over his mother’s grave, 
and the words that fell from that dying mother’s lips 
on that cold, wintry day, ‘ ‘ Take her. She will be a com- 
fort to you, my son. You will have something to live for 
and to work for.” ‘'What have I to live for or to work 
for now?” said he, mournfully. “Why was she given to 
me to be so ruthlessly snatched away, and after I had 
learned to love her so dearly? And why was it her fate 
t© die such a horrible death— she so pure and so innocent? 
O, Justice! where art thou? Where is thy dwelling 


11 


150 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

place ? Surely not on this earth. This lower world does 
not come under thy jurisdiction.” 

He bowed his head upon his hands and the hot tears 
trickled down his pale, thin cheeks, and fell like raindrops 
upon the grass beneath his feet. 

“ Veary, my boy, you must not give up to your feel- 
ings in this way,” said a gentle voice at his side, and an 
arm was laid around his shoulder. “You say you have 
nothing to live for. You are mistaken ; you have every 
thing to live for. You have a bright future before you, 
although the dark clouds of adversity may for a time ob- 
scure the rays of your bright anticipations ; but do not 
give up, my boy, for a bright and glorious sun is rising for 
you, and those bitter tears you shed now, will be as sealed 
fountains in bottles of gold. Yes, Veary, you have a great 
deal to live for. You have a poor old father upon whose 
furrowed brow the finger of time has left its impression, 
and in his declining years his feeble limbs will need your 
protecting care. I am your father now, Veary, and you 
are my child, given to me by the laws of the United States. 
I have adopted you as my own, and you will bear my name, 
and when I am no more, you will take my place in the 
world, and I want you to be an honor to my name. 
Your name is now Veary Elmore. I will call you Veary 
still, because I do not want to rob you of the name your 
mother gave you.” 

This sudden revolving of the wheel made a great change 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 151 

in Veary’s life, but not his feelings. Instead of a poor 
office-boy, he was now the honored son and heir of the 
wealthy Judge Elmore, and could he have thought the 
grave would give up its dead, he would have been a hap- 
py boy. Or could he forget the dead white ashes that lay 
moldering beneath the ruins of that old cottage, he could 
forget his sorrow. But he could not ; and I fear it will be 
many, many years ere he will cease to mourn for that dear, 
sweet face he thinks is moldering there. 

It was many days after that before Veary was able to 
go out upon the streets ; but as soon as his feeble strength 
would permit him, he sought the spot where he knew the 
ashes of his darling lay, white and beaten hard by the 
April showers. 

“Can it be possible,” said he, mournfully, leaning him- 
self against a scorched and withered tree, with a helpless, 
subdued expression touching to witness, “can it be possi- 
ble that my poor little darling, my little baby Birdie, lies 
beneath that ruin ? that her precious ashes are mingling 
and moldering together with that infamous old woman, 
who has been the whole cause of all this sorrow, of all this 
anguish?” He did not weep, but his eyes, fastened al- 
ways upon the spot, told of sealed fountains where the hot 
tears were constantly welling up, and failing to find egress 
without, fell upon the bruised heart which blistered and 
burned beneath their touch, but felt no relief. 

“O, my darling!” he continued, “you were too inno- 


152 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


cent, too good, to meet with such a fate. It would have 
been better had you died by the eagle’s claws from which 
I saved you, than to have lived and suffered, and at last 
meet with such a fate. O, God, help me to bear it, and 
teach me how to forgive the one who has blighted my whole 
life.” And the floodgates of grief seemed to open, and 
he wept as he had never done before. “ It would be some 
comfort to me,” he murmured, “could I but go and kneel 
beside her little restingplace and let my tears fall upon her 
little grave ; but even that is denied me. There is a grave 
somewhere, but I know not where; but she, alas! does not 
rest there. Her precious ashes are mingling with those of 
her destroyer. Purity and sin lie entombed in one sepul- 
chre.” He drew his hand across his inflamed and swollen 
eyes to wipe away the scalding tears, and turned his face 
toward his home, a changed boy. With his sparkling eyes 
and exquisite coloring of youth was mingled a wearied, 
indescribable expression of stern hopelessness — of solemn 
repose — as if he had deliberately bidden farewell to all that 
makes life bright and happy, and the magnetic warmth and 
energy of his shifting countenance was changed into a mar- 
ble-like expression. 

Would the light ever come back to his eyes? the laugh- 
ter to his lips? the peace and youthful hope to his heart? 
Only the sequel can tell. 

And now, for a time, we will leave him alone wkh his 
grief; knowing that time is the only healing balm for bruised 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


153 


and bleeding hearts, and we trust that ere long the aspira- 
tion that has kindled and blazed and died in his young 
heart will be resurrected from its grave ; and that when we 
meet again we may greet him upon the pinnacle of fame 
with the returned sparkle in his eyes, the ripple upon his 
cheeks, and the glad laughter in his heart. And now to 
the tender care of his God and benefactor, we will leave 
this brave yet tender and true-hearted boy. 


/ 


CHAPTER XII. 


FOUND IN THE SNOW, OR AN OLD MAN’S STORY. 

Dark and tempestuous was the night, and deep was the 
snow that lay white and ghost-like over the frozen land. 
Around the throne on high not a single star quivered, and 
the gentle queen had yielded her scepter to the king of 
storm, and the boisterous winds unanimously howled and 
wailed as they came forth from their mystic homes, as if 
to enchant by their aid the wildness of the scene. 

As it whistled through the broken window-panes it stir- 
red the white hairs of an old man who lay dying in a dreary, 
desolate-looking and miserably-furnished room in a tene- 
ment-house, with no watcher near his couch save a little 
girl some seven or eight years old. The loud, solemn 
strokes from the city clock made him stir and gaze vacant- 
ly around him. The snow and ice were penetrating through 
the broken windows, and made the child’s teeth chatter, 
and, shivering, she crouched down near the fireless stove, 
as if vainly expecting to derive some warmth from it. In 
one corner of the room stood an old piano covered with 
dust, and some sheets of music were scattered upon it. 
The old man had been a music teacher, and by his profes- 
. ( 154 ) 


f 


A BEAUTJFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 55 

sion had managed to make a scanty support. For ten 
years he had lived in this room, alone, teaching when he 
could get pupils, which was extremely seldom. Had it 
not been for the kind Providence that directed his steps to 
the river-side, where he found this little sunbeam one cold, 
black night, wandering alone like a lost lamb from its fold, 
and crying for some kind shepherd to shelter it in his arms, 
he would have died alone and uncared for. But he took to 
his heart this little wandering, homeless child, and carried 
it home in his arms, where it brightened up his gloomy 
home, and cheered his last hours on earth. 

A lamp was burning dimly upon one corner of the 
piano, casting flickering shadows on the fair young child, 
and on the pale face of the dying man, whose labored 
breathing resounded through the gloomy apartment. He 
was very tall and straight, though time and hardship had 
laid its hand heavily upon his splendid form, and his head 
was silvered with the frosts of many winters. Time’s 
crimping-iron had left deep impressions upon his once 
handsome face, though it was a grand old face, with such 
a high, intellectual forehead, and features that expressed 
so much of firmness and power that one might have won- 
dered to find its owner in such a place. 

The little girl was very beautiful, although a trifle wan 
and pale, and wise beyond her years. 

“ Birdie, my child, come here,” he called in a feeble 
voice that was scarce loud enough to reach the child’s ears. 


156 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

The little girl arose and went up to the bedside and 
laid her head upon his pillow. He reached out his hands 
and by a desperate effort the old man lifted her to a place 
beside him, and devoured her face with eyes in which was 
that awful, indescribable look that tells of approaching dis- 
solution. 

“ My little Birdie,” he began, gazing in her liquid blue 
eyes, “ my poor little clipped-winged bird, must I leave 
you alone ? Must the nest that has warmed and sheltered 
you these few months be torn away, and leave you alone 
and .unprotected? You so young, so innocent, and the 
world so cold, so vile. How I wish that I could take you 
with me to that beautiful homestead where I shall shortly 

go” 

“ Won’t you take me with you, papa,” said Birdie, 
choking back a sob. 4 ‘You will take Birdie with you, 
won’t you?” 

“No, my darling, not now; But you will comebye-and- 
bye, and I want you to listen, for I am going to tell you a 
little story, Birdie.” 

“For ten long years I had lived in this lonely little 
room, with no aim, no purpose, no hope, weary of life, 
weary of the world, weary of every thing under the sun, 
and in my weariness I was even beginning to question the 
justice of my Creator for having dealt so harshly with me, 
when one dark and stormy night I was kneeling upon the 
banks of the river, asking God to forgive me for a crime I 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


157 


was about to commit. In my blindness — God forgive me !. 

I was going to commit suicide. I arose from my knees, 
and was about to make the fatal plunge, when a little bird 
fluttered down at my feet, tired like myself, and foot-sore 
even with the short distance it had come on life’s rough 
journey. I gathered it in my arms and smoothed its rum- 
pled feathers, and in its ear whispered the name of father. 
It caught the accent and nestled on my bosom, not tim- 
idly, for such was not its nature, but as if it had found a 
resting place. I turned my back upon the dark, deep wa- 
ters of the Ohio, and returned to my lonely, and once des- 
olate home ; but I was a changed man. The springtime of 
my youth had passed and gone, but my autumn had 
brought with it a treasure, brighter than any jewel that 
ever glistened in the sun’s golden rays ; and the music of 
her voice sounded sweeter to me than the music of the 
nightingale, which has filled the world with wonder. And 
as I pressed it to my throbbing heart, and its tiny head 
nestled in my bosom, the murmuring brooks and the whis- 
pering leaves spoke of a time when she would be queen of 
birds. That she would one day bring to my lonely, deso- 
late home, a ray of golden sunlight. But I hear another 
voice speaking to me now — it is the voice of the grave, it 
is calling me and I must go — yes go and leave you in this 
great cold city, with no friend but God. O, Heavenly 
Father, watch over this lonely, friendless child, and pro- 
vide for her a friend who will fill a father’s place. Keep 


158 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


her in Thy protecting care, and shield her from the temp- 
tations that await her just outside these black and dingy 
walls.” 

Something in his face alarmed the little girl and she 
dropped her fair curly head on the pillow beside him, and 
cried softly, “ O, papa, take me with you ! do, please papa, 
don’t go away and leave Birdie ! I’m so awful afraid to be 
alone in this dark house — so very afraid, papa, and I’m so 
cold, too,” she sobbed, her childish brain failing to grasp 
the dread meaning of his words. 

Gently as possible he tried to make her understand the 
change that was approaching, until at last she appeared to 
realize what the going away implied, and her piteous sobs 
echoed through the gloomy and cheerless apartment, and 
died away ’mid the howling winds and pelting snow- 
storm. 

‘ ‘ Now, I want you to sing that sweet little song I taught 
you to sing,” said the dying man ; “it will help to soothe 
my fleeting breath, and my spirit will not feel so lonely in 
its flight.” 

The little child sang the words in a sweet, tremulous 
voice : 

It is finished ! blessed Jesus, 

Thou hast breathed thy latest sigh, 

Teach us, the sons of Adam, 

How the Son of God can die. 

Jesus, Lord of dead and living, 

Let Thy mercy rest on me ; 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 59 

Grant me, too, when life is finished, 

Rest in Paradise with Thee. 

“ Grant it, merciful Father,” said the dying man as he 
closed his eyes to all of earth, and his weary spirit went 
in search of that beautiful resting place beneath the shad- 
ows of the palm trees of the city on high. 

The clocks in the high church-towers throughout the 
city were ringing out their twelve long strokes when little 
Birdie, to whom the reader has already been introduced as 
the heroine of our story, was made the third time an or- 
phan, and only seven years had passed over her young and 
unsophisticated head. Though young in years, she had 
grown old with suffering. Like a wild thing the poor child 
fled through the dark hallways of the gloomy tenement, 
and knocked with all her feeble strength upon the door of 
a room which was occupied by a poor sewing woman, who 
toiled early and late as a means of providing food for her 
five little ones, while a worthless husband, who was not 
worthy of that appellation, spent the most of his time in 
a neighboring grogshop. Late as was the hour, she was 
still bending over her needle when little Birdie’s summons 
startled her. She opened the door hurriedly, and the lit- 
tle creature almost fell into her arms, her tiny face white 
with a terrible fear, and the nervous sobs which she could 
not restrain almost prevented her utterance. 

“O, please, please come, Mrs. Green, and see my 
papa ! He is so cold and white, and won’t speak to me 


i6o 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


any more, and I am so awful afraid,” she wailed, unable to 
to find a word that would express her feelings. 

Mrs. Green took Birdie’s cold little hand in her own, 
and together they entered the cheerless room where the 
old man lay cold and rigid in the dread arms of death. 
Mrs. Green glanced around her with an involuntary shud- 
der. The dreary, bare room, the empty cupboard, the 
fireless stove, the broken windows, through which the 
snow was drifting, the rigid form on the bed, and the beau- 
tiful, lonely child clinging to her skirts in terror at the si- 
lent hour of midnight, all combined to form a picture well 
calculated to inspire one with awe, and live long in the 
memory. The wide open, glassy eyes of the dead man 
seemed to be mutely imploring her to take pity on the 
lonely little creature clinging to her skirts, and as if in obe- 
dience to the dumb glance she raised little Birdie in her 
arms and imprinted a kiss upon her trembling lips, and 
then carried her down stairs and laid her in the bed with her 
own little ones, and Birdie nestling under the scanty cov- 
ering, sobbed herself to sleep in the grateful warmth. 

An inquest was held on the remains of the old man, 
and as no money could be found upon the premises, he was 
taken away and buried in Potter’s Field. 

The next question was, how to dispose of little Birdie ? 
Mrs. Green would gladly have kept the beautiful, intelli- 
gent child, and shared with her the poor food she labored 
so hard to provide for her own little ones, but her husband 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. l6l 

in a fit of drunken frenzy, threw little Birdie out on the 
pavement and terrified her beyond measure. Nothing 
could be done but to notify the authorities, and it was 
decided that on a certain day she was to be taken to some 
charitable institution or home for the friendless. On the 
night previous to that which she was to have been taken 
away, Green returned home drunk, as usual, and com- 
menced abusing his wife shamefully, using language that 
filled Birdie’s young heart with terror and made her shiver 
and crouch low in a dark corner of the room, from whence 
her suppressed sobs reached the ears of the maddened 
drunkard, whose attention, diverted for a time from his 
unfortunate wife, turned on the trembling and frightened 
child with the fury of a tiger. He sprang toward her and 
caught her by the loose flowing curls of her hair and threw 
her violently upon the floor. 

With a terrified shriek that rang through the house, she 
tore from his grasp and darted like some little wild thing 
out at the door, down the steps, and out in the cold, black 
night, not knowing, not thinking, and not caring whither 
her flying footsteps took her — anxious only to put a long 
distance between herself and the terrible man whom she 
feared more than the black darkness of the night, or the 
busy whirl of the city streets. 

Panting and breathless, she was compelled to pause at 
last, and for the first time ventured to look back. Long 
she wandered, up one street and down the other, trying, 


1 62 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

if possible, to find a friendly hand, but no one noticed the 
poor little homeless outcast. She was too young to realize 
the full horror of her position, and ere long sleep overtook 
her, and she sank down by a pump and laid her head 
against it and fell asleep ; the silken, tangled curls of her 
hair blowing about her pretty face, and her little hands 
purple with the cold, clasped as if in prayer upon her 
breast. The gay and fashionable passed her by on their 
way to scenes of festive enjoyment, or returned from 
church where they had dropped a nickel for foreign mis- 
sions, while beneath their feet a worthy object of charity 
lay, uncared for and unnoticed, save with contemptuous 
glance and a curl of the lip as they hurried by. 

The audiences from the theater, from the lecture-room, 
from the churches, all passed her, but still she slept on undis- 
turbed, until a burly policeman by chance came out of a 
saloon, and gaped, and spying the little outcast, struck 
the pump with his club, and she sprang up in affright, 
thinking it was the drunken man she was so much afraid of. 

“What are you doing out here this time of night, 
you little seamp, you?” he exclaimed, stamping his foot 
upon the frozen pavement. ‘ ‘ Scat along home this 
minute ! ” 

Home! home! ah, could that poor child have been 
blessed with a spot she could call her home, how grateful 
her little heart would have been. The wild beasts have 
holes to crawl into, but she had no place to lay her head. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 63 

A poor, friendless outcast, shut out from home, love, and 
mercy, to wander alone in the streets. 

With none to pity, none to bless, 

None to soothe the troubled breast ; 

Lonely, wandering through the snow, 

Knowing not which way to go. 

Nobody’s love, nobody’s care, 

None to smooth the tangled hair. 

Wandering hungry through the street, 

Treading the snow with cold bare feet. 

“O, strange, unequal portioner called life ! Unjust are 
its awards, and inscrutable its decrees. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE ORPHAN’S PRAYER, OR THE ANGEL OF THE HOUSE. 

“This is a fearful night ! ” exclaimed Dr. Sinclair, draw- 
ing his cloak more closely around him and giving his horse 
a spear in the side, which the spiteful animal resented by 
pitching the rider headlong in the gutter. Lucky for the 
doctor that the water was frozen, for it saved him from 
soiling his best clothes. 

After giving his horse several cuts with his switch to 
teach him better manners, he placed his foot in the stirrup 
and was about to mount when his attention was attracted 
by a noise in the alley. ‘ ‘ Hark ! that sounds like a child’s 
voice,” he exclaimed. “Surely, no child could be out in 
a night like this, and at such a late hour ; some little boot- 
black I suppose ; but whoever it is seems to be in trouble ; 
I will go and see what it is, for this is a fearful night for a 
child to be out.” 

“O, God, is it true? or do my eyes deceive me,” he 
exclaimed, gazing down upon a little golden-haired girl 
kneeling in a bank of snow, bare-headed, bare-footed, all 
alone in the black hours of night, with eyes uplifted, and 
her little purple hands, stiff with cold, reverently pressed 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 65 

together, in humble supplication to that merciful Father 
in heaven, who alone watched over the little homeless 
outcast. 

The little suppliant was too devout in her devotions to 
heed any thing that was going on around her, and Dr. Sin- 
clare remained unobserved until she was through. 

Kind reader, these are the identical words that fell from 
the lips of this faithful child. I will give them to you just 
as they were given to me. You may smile if you will, 
but could the whole universe possess the faith of this little 
midnight pleader, this terrestrial globe would be trans- 
formed into a paradise. 

‘ ‘ Dear good Mr. Lord, I am a little girl with no papa 
and no mamma and nobody to give me any shoes and 
dresses like other little girls. I had a Buddy Veary once, 
but granny says he is dead, and ’s gone up to heaven with 
some little children in a boat, and now I’ve got nobody to 
love me. I had a papa, too ; but he’s gone up there to 
rest, he says. I wish I could go, too ; for I’m awful tired 
and hungry and sleepy, and I don’t know what else. Dear 
good Mr. Lord, please give me another Buddy Veary, and 
another papa, just like the one that is already dead ; and 
please give me my daily bread ; and some shoes, and some 
dresses, and a pretty hat, and a doll, and lead me not into 
temptation. Amen.” 

Dr. Sinclare’s heart was touched as it never had been 
before, and as he gazed upon the little homeless outcast 


2 


1 66 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

his mind wandered to Cave Hill where his own little sun- 
ny-haired child was sleeping beneath the buttercups and 
violets, then the touching words of the poet rushed to his 
mind, and had it not been for the darkness, a pearly drop 
might have been seen trembling upon his eyelids. 

Alas ! I am an orphan now 

With naught on earth to cheer my heart ; 

No father’s love, no mother’s joy 
No kin, no kind to take my part. 

My lodging is the cold, cold ground, 

* I eat the bread of charity ; 

And when the kiss of love goes round, 

There is, alas ! no kiss for me. 

He stooped down and gathered the child in his arms 
and imprinted a kiss upon its cold brow. 

“ Your faith shall not be shaken, little one,” said he; 
“the good Lord has answered your prayer, and has sent 
you a papa.” 

“Are you going to be my papa?” said the little girl, 
nestling in his bosom, and laying her little cold cheek in 
his great whiskers. 

“Yes,” said the doctor, “lam going to take you home 
with me, and you shall be my little girl, and I am going to 
buy you shoes, dresses, dolls, and every thing you want.” 

‘ ‘ Did God send you ? ” 

“Yes, God sent me, little one; He heard your prayer 
and has answered it.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 67 

“ He is a very good Lord, and I’d like to see him,” 
she exclaimed ; because He is so good to little girls who 
aint got no papa and mamma.” 

“ Now,” said the doctor, as he placed her in the saddle 
in front of him, and almost smothered her in his great 
warm cloak, “ you must tell me who you are, and what you 
were doing out in the streets so late at night.” 

“I ain’t nobody but a little girl, and my name is Bir- 
die. * But I’m going to be your little girl, ain’t I? ” 

“ Yes, you are going to be my little girl,” said the doc- 
tor, drawing the cloak around her. 

“ Do you ever get retoxicated ?” said she, looking up 
into his face. 

“No, dear, I never get intoxicated,” said he, with a 
smile — “ why ?” 

“Well, I’m awful glad,” she replied, drawing a long 
breath, “because you won’t try to pull all the hair out of 
my head.” 

“No, darling,” said Dr. Sinclare, “ I would not hurt a 
hair upon your head, and no one else shall if I can help it ; 
but tell me, who has been trying to pull your hair out? 
They did not succeed, whoever it was, for you have plenty 
left, now.” 

“ Why, it was when I was staying with Mrs. Green, an 
awful bad man came home one night retoxicated and tried 
to tear all the hair out of my head, and said that I should 
not stay there any more, because I eat up all the bread.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


1 68 


“My poor child,” said he, “ you look as if you had not 
seen a mouthful for a month. 

“I am awful hungry,” she replied, “ but I asked that 
-good Mr. Lord to give me some bread, and he will, won’t 
he?” 

“Yes, darling,” said the doctor, smiling; “but you 
must not say Mr., because it is not right; He is your 
Father in heaven, and you must address him as such.” 

Several hours’ ride brought Dr. Sinclare to his beautiful 
home, where he gave his horse in charge of his valet. He 
took Birdie in his arms and carried her into the house, and 
placed her in a rocking chair before the glowing fire that 
snapped and blazed in the wide brass-rimmed grate, which 
shed its flickering brightness over a room brilliant and luxu- 
riant as any palace chamber in the Arabian Nights. It 
enchanted and dazzled the eyes that had only seen art and 
luxury through the shop-windows, while standing weary 
and sick at heart on the muddy pavements outside. 

“Aint this nice,” she exclaimed, clapping her little 
frozen hands and looking around the beautiful room. 
“ It looks like heaven ; O,' I wish Mrs. Green could see it. 
Am I always to stay here — as long as I live ?” 

“Yes, always,” replied the doctor, gently, “for you 
are my little girl now.” 

“This fire is awful nice,” said she, spreading her little 
purple fingers out to the glowing coals. “ Do you have a 
great big fire like this all the time ?” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 69 

“ Yes, when it is very cool,” the doctor replied. 

“ Well, I’m awful glad I’m going to be your little girl, ” 
she said, patting the head of a large Newfoundland dog 
that lay upon the rich carpet at her feet, and whose black, 
shaggy mane fairly glistened in the warm fire-light. When 
they entered the room he had raised his massive black 
head and seemed to say in his silent, dumb language, ‘ ‘ Wel- 
come, little mistress, to your new home, for I know you 
are kind and gentle.” 

The portraits that hung in gilt frames upon the walls 
seemed also to smile down upon the lonely little stranger 
and exclaim, “We are glad to see you, little fairy, for we 
know things will go on differently now, and there will be 
many changes in this grand old place.” 

“ We would like to make a change,” said George Wash- 
ington, “for we have hung in one place so long staring at 
each other that we are tired.” 

“ I would like to be removed near the door,” said 
Henry Clay, “where I can watch the waving bluegrass^ 
when the springtime comes ; and see the flashing of the 
reapers’ blades gleaming ’mid Kentucky’s golden sheaves.” 

“And place me opposite the window,” said Robert E. 
Lee, “and open the shutters, that I may behold the beau- 
ties of God’s fair creation, where I can see the sun rise 
every morning and watch the flowers burst into life and 
beauty, and see the busy bees trim their shining wings in 
the golden sun-light.” 


170 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


“I, too, would like to make a change,” said the old 
French clock on the mantle. “I would like to have my 
face washed, for I have been ticking away for twenty years 
and haven’t had my face and hands washed a half dozen 
times since my old mistress died. My master is always 
gone, and the house-maid takes no notice of me save when 
she wants to consult me about the hour when her beau is 
expected, and I had concluded to stop this very night, but 
I’ve changed my mind no.w, and, thinks I to myself, I wil* 
tick on, for I see some bright little eyes watching me, and 
I know there will be a change.” 

Little Birdie’s eyes brightened up when Dr. Sinclare 
came into the room and said, “Come, little one, and let us 
see if we can’t find some supper;” and he took her in the 
dining-room where the table was bountifully filled, and was 
tempting enough to satisfy the most fastidious. 

* ‘ Aint this nice, ” said she, as he placed before her a 
nice, hot, buttered roll, and a piece of tempting roast, 
together with fried chicken and smoking coffee flavored 
with delicious cream. 

“Are you very hungry, child?” said the doctor, as he 
enjoyed watching her devour the food as fast as he put it 
on her plate. 

“Yes, sir, I am awful hungry;” she replied, “I wish 
Mrs. Green had some of this, and Bobby, and Kate, and 
all the children, for I know they are hungry too.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 171 

“ Christmas gift, Mars Joe,” said a voice, as Dr. Sin- 
cere. stepped from his room the next morning into the 
passage. 

“Til be bound for you, Aunt Lucy,” said he, smiling; 
“you are always looking out for number one when 
Christmas comes around.” 

“Yes, Mars Joe, I’se bound to have a present when 
Christ comes, and you know dis old darkey has been mighty 
faithful dis whole year, bless the Lord.” 

“Well, come along, Aunt Lucy,” said the doctor, 
“for I expect you have earned a present this morning. 
I know you have been on the lookout for me for at least 
two hours.” 

“Thank you, thank you, Mars Joe,” said the old cook, 
courtesying low, as the doctor placed a bundle in her 
hand. 

“I know’d I’d get one,” she continued, opening the 
package. “Well, well, help my life, if it aint a nice 
black bombazine. I know all the niggers is gwine to look 
at dis darkey wid a jealous eye. Look! look ! Mars Joe ! 
what is dat? O, Lord, it’s a ghost.” 

“What is what?” exclaimed the doctor, in surprise, 
thinking the old negro had lost her senses. 

“Why, I saw something standing right in that door, 
and it looked just like an angel, and when I spoke it flew, 
yes Mars Joe, it flew. Uncle Jack said there was things 
to be seen in this house, and now I believe it.” 


172 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

“ Don’t act the fool, ” said the doctor, “but tell me 
what you saw.” 

“ O, I don’t know, Mars Joe ! it looked just like a ghost, 
and I believe it was the spirit of our little Jessie, for it 
looked just like her, and had on the same little gown she 
used to wear, all ruffled round de tail. O, Lord, I know 
something is gwine to happen, kase dey say it’s a sign of 
death to see a ghost, and I know I am gwine to die, 
and my new dress won’t do me no good after all ; some 
other nigger will get it. ” 

“ Are you sure it flew, Aunt Lucy?” said the doctor, 
amused at Aunt Lucy’s exaggerations. 

“Yes, Mars Joe, I’se sure of it, as sure as I’m living.” 

“Well, you are not afraid of an angel, Aunt Lucy, 
are you ?” said he. 

“Yes, Mars Joe, when I think they’ve come for me.” 

“Well, if that angel were to appear before you now, 
would you be frightened ? ” 

“Law, Mars Joe, I’d die.” 

“Well, you had better prepare to die, then,” said he, 
smiling, “for I am going to catch it and bring it in to see 
you.” 

The doctor had by this time guessed who the angel 
was that has given the old negro such a fright. 

“Ah, you can’t fool me,” said old Aunt Lucy, mak- 
ing her way to the kitchen. “You white folks pretends 
like you don’t believe in such things, but I’se too old, and 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 73 

I’se seen too many sights to hab wool pulled over my 
eyes. ” 

<l Well, Aunt Lucy, are you ready to die?” said Dr. 
Sinclare, coming into the kitchen with little Birdie upon 
his shoulder, her long hair flowing in ringlets over her 
shoulders, and the long, snowy gown of the little dead 
Jessie hanging over her feet. She really looked more like 
an angel than any thing else she could have been com- 
pared to. 

“Here is your angel ; does she look dangerous?” 

“Degood Lord!” said old Aunt Lucy, throwing up 
her hands, “ if dat don’t beat all. Mars Joe where did 
you find dat dear little thing ? ” 

“This is my Christmas present,” said he, kissing the 
little girl. “You are not afraid of her now, are you?” 

“ No, Mars Joe, not now; but dis old darkey aren’t got 
such a scare in a long time.” 

‘ ‘ I have been looking for her wings, but have not been 
able to find any,” said he, laughing. “ Are you sure she 
flew just now, Aunt Lucy.” 

“Now, Mars Joe, I know I nebber will hear de last of 
dat, and I spect de next thing I hear, de white folks will 
hab it in de papers, and every body will laugh at dis old 
fool nigger. ” 

“No, no, Aunt Lucy,” the doctor replied, “I will 
promise never to tell it on you, if you will be good to the 
little angel, and take good care of her.” 


174 A beautiful bird without a name. 

So it was Christmas day, one year from the dreadful 
night she made her escape from Granny Nailar, the hero- 
ine of our story was installed in her new and happy home. 

Dr. Sinclare has often assured his friends that it was the 
happiest Christmas he ever spent. Old Aunt Lucy lived 
to wear the bombazine dress, and to bless the day the lit- 
tle angel came into the house ; but the old darky is dead 
now, and when the angel of death came sure enough, 
she said, “Honey, de real angel has come at last, and I 
am gwine wid him, bless de Lord.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE DYING CHILD IN THE LONE HOUSE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 

Seven years have been laid away in the vault of time 
since that sweet May evening when first I saw Dr. St. 
George a prostrate figure upon the grave of his wife. 
Seven long years — weary and unhappy years — since he 
left her silent and alone in the quiet, peaceful city of the 
dead. The violets and buttercups have almost hidden her 
grave from view, and the dark-green ivy trails gracefully 
from the beautiful monument that stands like a finger 
pointing to her resting-place beyond the clouds. Seven 
long years that young husband has carried in his heart the 
memory of that sad, sweet face that lies beneath that 
mossy grave upon the brow of the hill. 

Seven years of undying energy and perseverance, and 
Dr. St. George has labored in vain for the recovery of his 
stolen child. The detectives with all their shrewdness and 
and strategy have given up the chase. 

It was the twenty-fifth of May. Winter had stepped 
from his frozen throne and yielded his scepter to Queen 
May. The snow and the ice were as a dream that had 
been told, and all nature had risen from its slumbers. 


I76 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

Yes, it was the twenty-fifth of May— fair, sweet May. 
Dr. St. George sat alone in his office with his head bowed 
in his hands. He had grown old with suffering, and, 
though only thirty, his black, glossy hair is considerably 
sprinkled with gray. As he sat there, perhaps he was 
thinking of that day, seven years ago, when he stood at 
his office window and watched the glorious sunset. That 
same sun was setting to-day, and he saw it as he did on 
the evening our story opened, sinking into a bed of flame, 
leaving in its stead snowflakes edged with fire. But 
the sunset and the flowers held no charm for him now. 
There were no sweet smiles to greet him when he returned 
at night, weary and worn, and no loving eyes to look up 
into his own, nor sweet words of encouragement to fall 
upon his ear, and no baby arms to cling around his neck, 
and no baby lips to murmur the name of “father. ” Ah, 
well, no wonder he looked sad to-day! No wonder that 
bruised heart is bleeding afresh, and the tears again have 
found a channel down his cheeks, for a letter is lying open 
upon his table. Read it, kind reader, that your sympa- 
thetic heart may go out in sympathy for this sorrow- 
stricken man; but “it is only those who have drunk 
deeply of the cup of affliction that can melt at the sigh of 
another’s sorrows.” 

# May 24TH. 

Dr. R. S. St. George : 

Dear Sir — I know you will be surprised at the reception of this letter, 
and trust, kind sir, that you may be prepared to receive it. I am sorry it 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


I 77 


has fallen to my lot to pen these sad lines to you, and being a stranger I 
hardly know how to express myself under such painful and peculiar cir- 
cumstances. Your child, which was stolen from you seven years ago, is 
now in my possession, and is expected to die. If you wish to see her 
alive you will have to hasten as quickly as possible. She was left here 
by a man unknown to me, saying that it was your child, and that he had 
taken it through revenge, but had repented of the crime, and to assure 
you that he had treated it well from its infancy up. 

This is all the information I can give you. The child was in a dying 
condition when he brought her to my house, and I hasten to write as soon 
as possible. Come to Glendale Station, and there take a cab to Castle 
Grove, which is twenty miles from the railroad, and directly west of 
Glendale Station. 

I remain, very truly yours, 

James Hardamore. 

“ If it is true,” said he, folding up the letter, “ I thank 
Heaven for my child, even should she come to me in the 
sable robes of death. I will lay her by her sainted mother, 
who I expect has already taken her in her arms.” 

********** 

It was late in the evening when he arrived at Glendale 
Station, where he hired a hack and started on his lonely, 
dreary journey, with a thousand conflicting emotions 
throbbing through his brain, and a thousand undefined 
fears in his heart. A long drive through a dreary, hilly 
country, with nothing to greet his ear but the dismal hoot- 
ing of the owl, and the unearthly, screams of the night- 
hawk, brought him, weary and worn, to the spot where 
he was directed. It was late at night and drizzling rain 


I78 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

when he reached the spot. He looked around as he 
descended. What a dreary, wild, lonely spot for his dar- 
ling to die in ! All around him lay the broken, hilly 
country, and the tall, shaggy cedars stood like sentinels of 
grief through the deep, misty fog. A moment more and 
he stood at the threshold of the very house — the place 
where his darling lay dying, or perhaps dead. A dreary, 
solitary dwelling, with no other human habitation near, 
with no sweet music of children’s voices, no songs of birds, 
no spreading trees nor flowers, to enliven the spot. The 
house was built of old gray stone, irregular in design. It 
belonged to no particular order of architecture ; it was old 
and quaint, and the green moss that grew out of the crev- 
ices gave it an odd, picturesque appearance. As he walk- 
ed up the old weather-beaten steps he wondered how any 
one who loved this fair, bright world, could have chosen a 
spot so desolate upon which to build a house. The splash- 
ing of a waterfall, the hooting of an owl, and the barking 
of a fox were the only sounds that broke the perfect and 
indescribable silence that reigned around. 

He paused for a moment and put his ear to the key- 
hole, but no sound came. A light was faintly glimmering 
through the broken windows. He raised his hand to 
knock, and then strange thoughts came into his mind. 
What if there were robbers in that house, and they had 
written this letter to entrap him ? If so he had nothing to 
defend himself with. But he soon dispelled such thoughts, 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 79 

and gave a tap upon the door. After some minutes he 
heard footsteps, and presently the door was opened by an 
elderly, weatherbeaten looking man. 

“I have been summoned to this house,” said the doc- 
tor, “to see my dying child. Am I at the right place? ” 

The man bowed low and said, “If you are Dr. St. 
George, you are the right man.” 

‘ ‘ I am Dr. St. George, and if what you have written 
to me is true, let me see my child without delay,” said the 
doctor firmly. 

“ It is true,” said the man, closing the door and beg- 
ging the doctor to follow Jiim. 

“ Is she still living ? ” 

“ Yes, but she is very low; don’t think she can stand 
it much longer, and we have done all we could do for her, 
poor child.” 

Dr. St. George did not speak any more, but his heart 
throbbed wildly as he followed him through a long, dark 
passage, and then into a comfortable looking room where 
a candle was flickering dimly upon the mantlepiece. In 
one corner of the room was a little bed upon which lay a 
beautiful, dying child, and an old woman sitting by the 
bed bathing its temples. 

“You will please leave the room,” said the doctor, 
and they immediately obeyed his command. Then he 
knelt down and kissed the white lips of the little sufferer. 
As he did so the tears streamed down his cheeks and 


i8o 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


dropped upon the coverlet. He knew that she was dying, 
and that no earthly power could stay the cold hand of 
death. And he felt, too, that it was more than he could 
bear, to be deprived of her ; that she should be taken 
away from him just as she was restored. Yet he thanked 
his Heavenly Father that she was restored to him even in 
death, that he might hold her in his arms once more and 
hear her murmur the name of father. And he thought, 
too, how there would be rejoicing in heaven, for the gates 
of heaven were left ajar, and that sainted mother was 
watching and waiting for her loved one ; and that no ruth- 
less hands could snatch it from her embrace. 

He gave her some stimulant which seemed to revive 
her ; then he took her in his arms and pressed his lips to 
hers, so cold and white. She raised her eyes to his, full 
of love and gratitude, and said, “What makes you cry, 
good man? Are you sorry that me is going to die? 
Don’t cry any more, ’cause there is lots of little children 
up in heaven, and mamma is there, you know, and when 
I get there I am going to tell her what a good man you 
are, and how good you was to her little Mamie.” 

“ My darling,” said he, pressing her to his heart, “I 
am your father, and you are my own little girl. Now call 
me papa once, darling, let me hear you say it.” She laid 
her little arms around his neck, and smiling, said : 

“Are you my papa, sure enough? I did not know I 
had a papa.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 8 1 

“Yes, darling, I am your papa,” said he, bending 
down and kissing her cheek. 

“ I am glad you came, papa,” said she, smiling ; “ you 
just got here to see me before I died, didn’t you? ” 

“ Papa don’t want his little girl to die, ’’said the doctor, 
choking back the lump that came up in his throat. “ He 
won’t have a little girl to love him then.” 

“ But I can love you when I am in heaven, papa, just 
as well ; and won’t it be funny,” said she, with a far-away 
look, “ for a little girl no bigger than I to be so far up in 
the sky, and looking right down on every body ? ” And 
she closed her eyes and laid her head back upon his shoul- 
der. Presently she opened them again, but death was in 
them ; the fire had gone out, and they looked ghastly and 
sunken. 

“I love you, papa,” faintly came from her lips. And 
those were the last words she spoke. The great Healer 
had come and had taken her in his arms and bore her pure 
spirit to that merciful Father in Heaven, who said, “Suffer 
little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for 
of such is the kingdom of heaven.” 

He laid her gently back upon the pillow and knelt down 
by the bed and prayed long and fervently, asking God to 
give him strength to bear this great sorrow. 

“I love you, papa.” Those sweet words were whis- 
pered in his ears just as her spirit passed into the sanctum 
sanctorum of rest. And long after the grass and the flow- 

13 


182 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


ers had covered her little grave, these words lingered 
around his heart. He can hear them in the sighing of the 
wind, in the music of the birds, in the rippling of the 
waters. It is whispered to him even upon the busy streets. 
He hears the words above all the jostle and noise of a 
great city ; but comes more distinct when he bends over 
the bed of a suffering patient. 

He carried her home and laid her to rest in a little nar- 
row bed by the side of his wife, and planted flowers over 
her grave. And there was another nine days’ wonder ! 
Many were rejoiced that he had recovered his child, even 
though he had to lose her ; while others shook their heads 
doubtfully. Dr. St. George went abroad for two years, 
which time he spent in traveling through Italy and France. 
When he returned he seemed much improved by the sea- 
breezes, for his health had become very much impaired. 
His friends again advised him to marry the second time, 
but he would say, “I can not marry a woman unless I have 
a heart to give, and that I have not ; mine lies buried in 
Cave Hill Cemetery,” and with this his friends would have 
to be contented ; for the memory of his dead wife still 
remained uneffaced, and her dying words still echoed in 
his ear, “You will always love me best, Robert?” 

We will now leave him alone with his grief, trusting 
that time may pour her healing balm upon his bruised and 
bleeding heart, and he may yet be happy in the love of 
some good woman. 


CHAPTER XV. 


birdie’s ADVENTURES THE MEETING AT THE SPRING. 

Not many miles from Louisville, Kentucky, in a roman- 
tic and picturesque spot, is to be seen a beautiful village 
whose feet are daily washed by the waters of the Ohio, 
and the steamers glide by like spirits of the deep. Their 
fluttering wheels, fringed with gold, are playing with the 
jeweled fingers of the sun, shooting its gleams in sapphire 
depth. A beautiful mountain crest rises in the distance, 
dotted here and there with white cottages, almost hidden 
by the heavy foliage. At the base a mountain torrent 
thunders along, foaming and dancing, and leaping, as it 
pours over a huge rock and mingles with the waters of the 
Ohio. 

For miles around the clink of the reaper’s blade is 
heard, as it gleams ’mid Autumn’s golden sheaves, and 
the gentle zephyrs bathe their mystic pinions in the deli- 
cious perfume of the clover, and fan the heated brow of 
the merry reapers, while the poppies and periwinkles play 
hide and seek in the tall, rich bluegrass, finishing a master- 
piece of nature that would put the best effort of Salvator 
Rosa to shame. Upon a beautiful grassy slope near the 

( 183 ) 


1 84 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

banks of the river rests an elegant mansion, almost hidden 
by dense foliage of sugar-maples and cottonwood. The 
clean gravel walks wind deviously among the shrubs from 
the threshold to the gate, through a rich carpeting of 
waving grass, dotted here and there with pyramids of arbor 
vitae and fir cones. Back of the house a huge sycamore, 
whose mammoth trunk is green with the moss of many 
years, reaches its long arms far up toward the heavens, as 
if imploring a blessing upon the youthful head that rested 
beneath its shade. 

A little further, and the grape had climbed into a wide- 
spreading hawthorn with a scraggy trunk and lance-like 
weapons hid in its leaves ; but it bore a gorgeous wealth 
of white blossoms, and the bees mingled melody with the 
welcome fragrance. An impenetrable canopy of cool, 
green network hung gracefully above the seat at the root. 
Sloping back was a meadow reaching down until the turf 
dipped itself in the cool, gurgling waters of the brook, 
that mourned sweetly, plaintively — perhaps for some lost 
nymph. 

There in that grand old place, where love is as pure 
as the tuberoses that break their rich, sweet hearts upon 
the balmy air ; music that charms artist ears and adds to 
the celestial fire of the poet’s day-dreams, in which the hours 
unfold, beautiful and uncounted, like the leaves of the 
multiflora; nights that are hushed in sweet repose by the 
soft stealing winds that tap with magic fingers the chords 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 85 

of the ^Eolean harp ; gay laughter here and there ; glad 
charity with all things ; meditation now and then to deepen 
the well-springs of the mind ; the open air always ; baths 
of warm, golden sunshine ; the opal sky of evening with 
fancies of the poet, and every where perpetual scenes of a 
delicious rest, hallowed by the melting strains of a thousand 
birds, that launch out every morning upon the radiance of 
Aurora, from the house-top, from the fields, from the forest 
edges, from the orchard and garden, from the fences running 
into each other, clasping, overlapping, and surging together, 
like a thousand strayed notes from the quivering chords of 
the archangel’s harp, all singing at the very top of their 
voices, as if fired by an ecstacy of gladness. 

There, in that terrestrial paradise rests the home of our 
Beautiful Bird Without a Name. Though ten years have 
been laid away in the vault of time since last we saw her 
tiny feet treading the winding paths and gravelled walks — 
ten years since that dark and stormy night that Dr. Sin- 
clare found her a poor, helpless outcast, shut out from pity, 
love, and mercy, into the cold, cold world, without home, 
without friends, without food, with only the snow for her bed, 
the canopy of heaven for her covering, and the star of Bethle- 
hem for her lamp — nobody’s love, nobody’s darling. Ten 
times the star of Bethlehem has twinkled and blazed in 
adoring reverence, and the church-bells proclaimed an old 
year dead and a new one born. Ten times the meeioeyed 
daisies struggled through the April snow, and bloomed, 


1 86 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

and faded, and died. Ten times has summer’s steam 
engine belched out its fiery steam o’er the land, and win- 
ter’s icy chains fettered the singing brooks and hushed 
their glad music into silence. Ten years since Birdie 
Nobody was changed into Birdie Sinclare. And those ten 
years of delicate nurture, tender care, and perfect health, 
have ripened this fair child into a maiden of wondrous 
beauty, the pride and joy of her adopted father, who spared 
neither pains nor money, nor yet severe discipline, to 
enrich her mind, and give her all the accomplishments that 
could be bestowed upon her. Her intellect and manners 
expanded and improved beneath his gentle influence, and 
each day she became dearer to him, until she occupied 
every chamber in his old heart, and he had not only a play- 
thing and pet in the little wild bird without a name, but 
also a companion and equal, capable of entering with him 
the mazy labyrinths of science, and astonishing him with 
the wealth of her richly stored mind. Still, in everything 
pertaining to her womanhood she was wholly feminine, 
and simple as a child. Now, as of old, she bounds through 
the spacious grounds, and trips over the grassy lawns, and 
up the stairs, and fills the old house with a world of melo- 
dy and sunshine. 

It was now vacation, and she was home on a visit ; but 
she was never idle, for when she was . not walking, or 
riding, or employed in beautifying her home, or working 
her flowers, she would devote her time to her studies, for 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 87 

she was as much of a student at home as when at school. 
She was to graduate next session, and she must make the 
best use of her time, she said, “for I want papa to be 
proud of me one of these days, for gracious knows I have 
been trouble enough to him.” As she said this she sighed 
and dropped mechanically upon the. seat at the foot of the 
old hawthorn, and laid her open book upon her knee ; 
and any one could tell by the expression upon her face 
that she was a school-girl trying to untangle some mathe- 
matical problem. 

As she sat there beneath the rustic canopy in the glori- 
ous summer noon, watching the shadows creep through 
the net- work and fall like fairy’s feet upon the velvet grass, 
and the white blossoms of the hawthorn showering down 
upon her golden hair and fair white arms, like a perfumed 
shower of snow, she presented a picture “ fairer than a 
thought of Lancret’s, more tranquil than a dream of 
Claud’s, and a loveliness ethereal, poetic, such as Dante 
might have pictured amidst the angel shadows of Paradise 
— Guido Reni have beheld flit through the heaven of his 
visionary thoughts.” 

If Titian or Velasquez had seen her as she sat there, the 
world would have been the richer by an immortal work of 
art. Titian alone could have reproduced those rich, marvel- 
ous colors, that perfect, queenly beauty. He would have 
painted the picture, and the world would have raved about 
its beauty. The heavy masses of golden ringlets, the fair, 


1 88 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

white face with the rose tint, the perfect mouth, with its 
proud, sweet, imperial, yet tender lips ; the white, dimpled 
chin ; the liquid blue eyes, deep and thoughtful ; the 
head and face unrivaled in their glorious contour ; the 
heavy, dark brows that fringed her violet eyes ; the white 
neck, half hidden, half revealed, by the coquettish dress ; 
the white, round arms, and beautiful hands — all would 
have struck the master of art. Both poet and painter 
would have loved that face, for it was a loveliness like that 
of the delicate tropic flower which blooms but to perish in 
all its early beauty ; too frail for the storms and darkness 
of night, too soilless to wither on earth. 

She was alone, but her reverie was sweeter than any 
poet’s song or romancist’s story could have told her. But 
the clear, ringing voice of a chanticleer breaks through 
the thread of her thoughts, and she raised her head and 
smiled, for the spring chickens, with yellow velvet jackets 
and blue glass eyes, fluttered over her very feet, and the 
motherly old hen, who distrusted every other creature, 
clucked close to the very folds of her dress. 

Not far off lay her Newfoundland dog, with his black, 
shaggy head resting upon one paw, dozing with one eye 
open, watching a couple of kittens that were making havoc 
with his mistress’s hat-strings ; while a venerable turkey 
gobbler was watching with a jealous eye a dandy peacock 
that was sunning his gorgeous plumage, and making eyes 
at his lady-love. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 1 89 

In the distance a Shetland pony was grazing 1 upon the 
delicious bluegrass. Now and then he would raise his 
head and neigh, as he saw other horses pass his sancto- 
rium. 

“You dear old darling,” said Birdie, going up and pat- 
ting him on his sleek, fat neek, and running her white, 
jeweled fingers through his long silken mane, “I know 
you are lonely and would like to go out a little to stretch 
your limbs, and you shall go this very minute; ” and she 
slipped the bridle over his head and led him up to the stile 
to be saddled, and then ran up to her room to put on her 
riding habit. She had not been gone but a few minutes 
when she returned dressed in a neat, plain, riding habit, fit- 
ting close to the perfect figure, showing every graceful line 
and curve. Birdie possessed that rare accomplishment 
among women — a graceful seat on horseback — and Dr. 
Sinclare could not help noticing with vain pride the admir- 
ing glances cast upon his beautiful, accomplished, daugh- 
ter as they rode out together. He saw how completely 
she was queen of society. Unusual homage followed her. 
She was the observed of all observers ; every one seemed 
to pause and look at her. Dr. Sinclare heard repeatedly 
as they rode along, the question, “Who is that beautiful 
girl ? ” Every one of note or distinction contrived to 
speak to her. Dr. Sinclare arrived just in time to assist 
Birdie in the saddle, and before she had time to give the 
signal, Lightning stuck his hoofs in the ground and was 


I9O A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

soon flying through the air, bearing his young mistress 
like a queen through the rich meadows and tangled woods, 
leaving the doctor gazing over the tops of his glasses to 
catch the last glimpse of his flying heels. 

“That girl rides entirely too fast,” said he, as he entered 
the house. ‘ ‘ I expect nothing but that she will be brought 
home some day with her limbs broken.” 

Birdie was a good rider, and had no fear of such a catas- 
trophe, and in five minutes she was out of sight. 

It was one of those exquisite evenings when to live and 
breathe the sweetness of the air is rapture ; when the old 
feel young, and the young can scarce tread soberly upon 
the ecstacy of mere existence. The soft, warm breezes 
crept around Birdie like a caress, as she rode slowly along. 
She had now checked her pony and was riding leisurely 
along under the wide-spreading boughs of a line of cotton- 
wood, the turf white with the fallen blossoms of the haw- 
thorn, and still the trees were bright with lingering bloom. 
Further on in the green heart of the chase came a little 
wood of maples with leafy towers, their summit aspiring to 
the blue vault of heaven. Beyond there stretched an un- 
dulating expanse of open sward, with here a beech and 
there an oak standing up against the summer’s sky in soli- 
tary grandeur — monarchs of the woodland. It was the 
paradise of squirrels, rabbits, and wild flowers. Lightning 
knew every inch of those woods, for he and his mistress 

it 

had roamed about in them at all hours and in all weather ; 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. I9I 

sometimes when the snow lay deep in the hollows, and the 
first of the wild snowdrops showed pale on the topmost 
ridges where the sun had touched them. 

Lightning was accustomed to take his ease in these 
woods ; the halter was thrown over a limb, while Birdie 
gathered wild flowers or sat beneath the shade of the trees, 
botanizing, entomologizing, sketching, or musing, as her 
fancy prompted. Her childhood and girlhood had been 
passed lonely, save the companionship of her governess, 
who possessed every amiable quality except the power to 
amuse, and Birdie had learned to find her own amusements 
and her own occupations, more especially when Dr. Sin- 
clare was away from home. In these woods she had 
learned her lesson, day after day, from early spring to 
latest autumn. Here she had read her favorite poets ; 
here she had become familiar with all that is practical and 
interesting in the history of flowers and insects. The 
woods had been her playroom and study ever since she 
had become queen of that new home. To-day she let 
Lightning travel his slowest pace, stumbling a little now 
and then in a sleepy way, and recovering himself with a 
jerk. Presently he paused to take a drink from a cool, 
clear stream that gushed from a rock at the foot of a large 
oak tree, bubbling and dancing over the snowy pebbles. 

‘‘Howl envy you, Lightning!” said she; “for I am 
awful thirsty, and that water is so tempting I think I shall 
participate, for it is not often one is blessed with such cool 


192 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


spring-water as this ; ” and she threw her bridle loose upon 
his neck and sprang to the ground. Going up to the tree 
she gathered some leaves and pinned them together with 
thorns, forming a cup, which she held to catch some of the 
sparkling water that was falling upon a rock beneath, break- 
ing into a thousand snowy sprays, when her attention was 
attracted by a noise just behind her ; and before she had 
time to look around, a little black pointer sprang out of 
the bushes and startled her so she dropped her rustic cup 
and it floated down the stream. 

“I am sorry my dog frightened you/’ said a young man, 
stepping from a cliff on the opposite side. “ Allow me to 
assist you ; ” and he took from his pocket a small silver cup 
and placed it under the stream and caught some of the 
sparkling water, and, with a graceful bow, handed the cup 
to Birdie. 

She raised her beautiful eyes to his, and with a sweet 
smile said, “Thank you.” 

“ Such eyes ! ” said he to himself ; “I wish she would 
look at me again just that way.” 

“ Whom am I to thank for this unexpected kindness ? ” 
said she, as she handed back the cup. 

“ Pardon me,” said he, “I should have first introduced 
myself before I assumed the honor of offering your lady- 
ship my humble services. My name is Elmore, the adopt- 
ed scapegoat of Judge Elmore, of Louisville, Kentucky.” 

“ And I am the adopted wild bird of Dr. Sinclare, who 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


J 93 


ventured too early from its feathery nest, and being too 
young to fly, was captured by a bird of different plumage, 
who was generous enough to furnish me with an appella- 
tion,” said she, laughing, “and one, too, I am proud of,” 
she added, with a blush. 

The young man opened his large, brown eyes, and a 
flush came upon his face as he exclaimed : 

“And this is Miss Sinclare, of whom I have heard so 
much since my return to the city.” 

“ Indeed,” said she, somewhat abashed; “I was not 
aware of being such a notorious character. I am sure it is 
not my intention or desire to be the eighth wonder of the 
world, and I don’t see in what way I have committed my- 
self, Mr. Elmore, for I am only a school-girl, and my ac- 
quaintance has been extremely limited outside the school- 
room and my father’s house.” 

“ Young ladies are never aware of such things,” said 
he, smiling down into her face ; “ but is it possible, Miss 
Sinclare, that you have never been informed of the uncom- 
mon homage that follows you from the school-room to 
your father’s house ? ” 

“You have been the first to convey to my unsophistica- 
ted ears the unfortunate intelligence,” said she, somewhat 
stiffly, with a slight curl of her pretty lips. 

“ Why do you call it unfortunate, Miss Sinclare ? ” said 
he. “I thought young ladies were fond of homage.” 

“And so they are,” exclaimed Birdie, firmly. “Some 


i 9 4 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


of them may bask in the sunshine of flattery, for the 
tongue of man well utters its language. As for myself, I 
deny the accusation, for I detest it. Flatterers are like 
bees ; they carry both honey and a sting with their sweets 
upon their wing. But they are unlike the bee in one 
respect ; they poison the flower on which they alight, and 
leave it to wither and die, as they seek new victims in 
fresh pastures.” 

“ But you should not condemn all, Miss Sinclare; you 
should not call a man’s true sentiments flattery, for when 
one speaks from the impulse of the heart, and speaks what 
he honestly believes is true, we can not call it flattery.” 

To this Birdie made no reply, but said, “ I will have 
to go, Mr. Elmore; will you assist me on my pony? ” 

To this the young man replied, ‘‘Certainly, Miss Sin- 
clare, with great pleasure ; but I do not see him, I fear he 
has run off and left you. How stupid of me to stand here 
and let your pony get away, right under my eyes ! I am 
so sorry, Miss Sinclare; will you forgive my stupidity?” 

But he was not sorry one bit, and felt guilty all the 
while, for he saw the pony when he walked off, and could 
have caught him very easily ; but he thought how nice it 
would be to walk home with Miss Sinclare, for it would 
not do to let her go alone through the woods two miles;, 
besides it was growing late. 

“Do not blame yourself, Mr. Elmore,” said Birdie, 
“it was all my fault. I have been accustomed to leaving 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


195 


him unfastened, and he has never left me before. I sup- 
pose he got tired of waiting; but it does not matter, the 
roads are good, and I do not mind the walk.” 

“But you must not think of going alone,” said the 
young man. “If you will allow me, I will accompany 
you home.” 

‘ ‘ I am sorry to put you to the trouble,” said she, ‘ ‘ and 
perhaps it is throwing you out of your way home.” 

“Trouble!” said he, half vexed at her for the remark; 
“if this is trouble, I ask not for pleasure, Miss Sinclare, 
and only pray that they may come thicker and faster, and 
each day be crowned with troubles just like this — these are 
my true sentiments, Miss Sinclare, so don’t place me on 
that abominable list of yours, you call flatterers ; but you 
will have to lead the way, I am afraid I would not make a 
good pilot through these woods.” 

“I will be pilot!” said she, “for I know every pig 
path, and have traversed them in my childish rambles from 
one end to the other.” 

Veary Elmore had seen a great many faces in his life, 
both in real life and in art, but neither nature nor art had 
hitherto shown him one so fair as that which was presented 
to him on that summer evening. 

Birdie took his arm, and they started for her home, 
each one with a new joy in the heart that had never dwelt 
there before, and a dreamy, ethereal content stole like sad 
music on a south wind over their souls. The world never 


196 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


seemed so beautiful ; the sky so bright ; the flowers so 
lovely, or the birds to sing more sweetly — all previous life 
seemed but as a trance, sad-colored and heavy with monot- 
ony. All that were hueless dreams before, took form, 
and color, and the vaguest ideals all at once grew real. In 
an hour the flower of love had sprouted, grown, and 
bloomed as a tree of life. 

Birdie had been kept beneath her father’s wing ; he 
watched over her as a hen watches over her only chicken. 
He was very particular in selecting such companions for 
her as he thought would be befitting her society, and 
always selected the course of literature he wished her to 
read, and taught her French and Latin in his own study; 
for he had mastered them both and spoke them fluently. 
And instead of rushing her into society to catch a hus- 
band before she could make a cup a tea or know any thing 
of the responsibilities that would rest upon her shoulders, 
he kept her in the nursery, and at eighteen she was as 
innocent and as unsophisticated as other girls would be at 
twelve, thanks to her wise father. The breath of passing 
love-fancies which dulls the mirror of most girls’ souls had 
never passed over her. 

She had been reared in the sunshine of her father’s 
affections, and with that love she was as content and happy 
as a mountain flower that bloomed where no steps of man 
had ever wandered. Her heart was like a deep, unruffled 
lake. Ah, well! every one has his troubles, his disap- 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


197 


pointments, and heartaches, which Cupid poisons his arrow 
with before he pulls the trigger, and Birdie must have her 
share, for Cupid has already made a dead shot, and his 
arrow has lodged somewhere in the vicinity of the heart. 
She does not know it yet, but one day she will feel a pang 
which will tell her where the arrow rankles. 

14 




CHAPTER XVI. 


HAS SHE BEEN NAMED IN HEAVEN, OR DO THE ANGELS CALL 
HER BIRDIE STILL ? 

Twilight’s mystic veil was hanging low, and the bright 
constellations, one by one, were taking their stations in 
the heavens, when Birdie Sinclare and her companion 
walked leisurely up the graveled walk of her home. 

The statues shone white and ghost-like between the 
dark, whispering trees, and the snowball bushes gleamed 
faintly through the dusk, and nodded their downy heads 
in the breezes, and seemed to hold silent and solemn com- 
munication with each other as they passed by them. 

It was just at that time when the light was divided 
from the darkness, and mystery seemed to wrap the whole 
face of the earth in one endless, dusky, winding-sheet. 
The lamps had not been lighted yet, and love lives best 
in this soft, mysterious, twilight, where it only hears its 
own heart and one other’s beat in solitude. 

Birdie and her companion did not enter the house, but 
took a seat beneath the old hawthorn, whose white blossoms 
were dropping like snow-flakes upon his black coat, and 
lodging mid Birdie’s sunny ringlets. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


99 


“ Mr. Elmore, you did not tell me how you came to 
be at the spring,” said Birdie, as they seated themselves 
beneath the rustic canopy. 

“I was carried there upon the wings of Fate,” said the 
young man, smiling down into her sweet face, as the 
blushes chased each other down her cheeks and played 
hide-and-seek among the little ringlets behind her ears. 
“ Nothing mortal could have been, nor would have been, 
so kind,” he added, with a twinkle in his honest brown 
eyes. 

“ Why do you say' that? ” said she. “ Do you think 
it was very kind of Fate to make you walk five miles out of 
your way home ? ” 

“ I would be willing to walk ten miles out of my way, 
Miss Birdie, just to have the blessed opportunity of walk- 
ing one mile with my fair companion,” he replied. 

“ Do they teach young men to flatter at your school, 
Mr. Elmore?” she replied. “I think you told me that 
you had just returned from school.” 

“A man need not attend a law-school to learn the les- 
son of first — ” 

“Now stop right there,” said she, shaking her fore- 
finger at him. “ I told you that I detested coxcombs and 
flatterers, and I thought better of you, Mr. Elmore. You 
look like a man, and not a fop.” 

“I will not allow you to call my true sentiments flat- 
tery, for I really mean every word I say, whether you 


200 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


believe it or not, and when you come to know me better 
you will think differently of me. Perhaps I have been too 
familiar on first acquaintance,” said he, sorrowfully; “but 
I could not help it, Miss Birdie, upon my word I could 
not, and I don’t want you to think any the less of me for 
it, for you have strangely impressed me in some way that 
I can not express. Your face is as familiar to me as my 
right hand, and yet I never saw you before ; your voice is 
as familiar as my own, and yet I never heard it before. 
There is something in your whole bearing and manner 
that impresses me deeply, strangely — something that car- 
ries me back to my boyhood days. In meeting you I feel 
that I have met a long-lost friend — some kindred spirit 
from whom I have long been separated. 

“ Mr. Elmore,” said Birdie, looking at him with a 
searching, inquiring look in her thoughtful eyes, “ it is 
very strange, for I must admit that I have been impressed 
in the same manner in regard to you. It seems that we 
have met before, but I can not tell when or where. 

“I am glad of that, ’’said he, smiling, “fori know you 
wont think me such a bad fellow after all ; knowing how 
to sympathize with me. Now will you take back those 
bad words you spoke just now, and let me be your friend ?” 

“I can not take them back now,” said she, laughing, 
for Eurus has borne them away on her shadowy wings 
to some of the far-away hills, and you may always hear 
the echo; but you shall henceforth be my friend.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


201 


“Thank you,” said he, and I shall try to retain that 
friendship, by trying to make myself worthy of the treas- 
ure.” 

“Have you a sister, Mr. Elmore?” said Birdie 
looking up into his eyes that had a vacant, far-away look 
in them. 

“No, Miss Birdie, I have, unfortunately no sister. 
Though I had one once, but — 

“ * She was too pure for sinful earth, 

To wander here below, 

Where every rose conceals a thorn, 

And every joy brings woe. ’ 

“And she is now in heaven; and it is she, he added, 
with a sad smile, “ that you remind me of. Your face and 
hair and eyes and voice all remind me of that dear sweet 
child, and carries me back to my mountain home, with its 
green pastures, and murmuring brooks, and flowery slopes. 
It seems that I can see the old mill-pond now with its 
moss-covered wheels, and the old school-house just on the 
top of the hill. But it is very selfish of me to converse 
upon topics that can not be interesting to you, or any one 
else but myself.” 

“O, you are mistaken” said she; “it does interest me 
very much, and I want you to talk to me just as you 
would to a sister ; for you know we are to be the best of 
friends, and I can sympathize with you ; for I too have 


202 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


neither brother nor sister; and have often thought how 
happy I would be if I only had a sister, or a brother like 
other girls who have them ; and I know I never would be 
cross and ugly to them like some I have seen. I once had 
a brother” she added, “ whom I loved and worshiped; 
though I was very young when he died, yet his image is 
ever before me, and his voice in my ear, and to my dying 
day, I shall never cease to mourn his loss. He was 
drowned, poor boy, trying to save the lives of some little 
children who were capsized in a boat near the falls.” 

“That is strange,” said he, “it seems that our lives 
run in the same channel. We both claim our appellation 
by adoption, both made brotherless and sisterless by the 
hand of fate, and both writing a book, each taking his 
title from the feathery tribe.” 

“ Why do you call your book “ ‘A Beautiful Bird with- 
out a Name ? ’ ” said Birdie. 

“It is named in honor of my little dead sister, whose 
nickname was Birdie, and who died without a name, ” said 
the young man, gravely. “She had never been named, 
and I have often wondered if she has been named in 
heaven, or do the angels call her Birdie still? ” 

For some time they sat without speaking; each one 
seemed too full for words, for a tear was trembling on the 
lids of each, as they sat in profound silence. Presently 
they heard a footstep, and the next moment Birdie was in 
her father’s arms. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 203 

“You little runaway! Where have you been?” said 
he, imprinting a kiss upon her cheek. “I have been 
nearly crazy, for the pony came home without you, and I 
was sure he had thrown you and you were perhaps lying 
in the woods, dead, or very near the thing, and I have 
been looking for you for two hours, and came to raise the 
neighbors to go in search of you.” 

“Well, father,” said she, laughing, “ there is nothing 
like dying when you can have a grand funeral, and some- 
body to cry for you ; but come, let me introduce you to 
my new-found friend. Mr. Elmore, this is my father, Dr. 
Sinclare.” 

The young man advanced toward the doctor and ex- 
tended his hand, which Dr. Sinclare grasped firmly. 

‘ ‘ I am happy to meet you, Mr. Elmore ! ” said he, shak- 
ing his hand heartily. “ I believe you are the son of Judge 
Elmore, of L , are you not ? ” 

To this question the young man replied in the affirm- 
ative. 

“ I am well acquainted with the old judge,” he replied ; 
“but I have not seen him for some time. How is your 
father’s health ? I heard he was failing rapidly, and I am 
sorry to hear it, for the State will lose one of its pillars.” 

“It is too true, I fear,” said Veary Elmore. “My 
father’s health is declining rapidly. He works entirely too 
much ; it seems that the public can not give him up. I 
have not seen him for several days,” he added. “ I have 


204 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


been rusticating with friends in the country. My father 
was desirous that I should take a little fresh air after being 
confined so closely at college, and as I was under that im- 
pression myself, it did not take much persuasion to make 
me a denizen of the forest. To-day I had been out trying 
my hand at hunting, when I had the pleasure of meeting 
Miss Sinclare, and was happy to be of some service to 
her.” 

Dr. Sinclare thanked him greatly for his kindness, and 
begged that he would not only take tea with them, but 
that he should remain until morning, and he would send 
him home in the carriage. To this proposition the young 
man consented, and was soon feeling himself perfectly at 
home. 

An hour had passed since supper, and the young people 
were sitting alone upon the verandah discussing literature, 
and the drama, Macbeth and the weird sisters, and Shake- 
speare in general, when Birdie gave the conversation a 
turn by saying, 4 4 What a glorious night ? ” 

“Yes, look at that great, bright star,” said her com- 
panion ; 44 1 never saw it so brilliant as it is to-night.” 

They were leaning over the balustrade and looking 
toward the star-lit river, which was lovely in its clear dark- 
ness and its deep stillness. Its black sleeping depth 
seemed not to stir in its ripple. Here and there a star 
trembled upon its dark bosom, and along its shadowy 
shore the white skiffs nestled, gleaming faintly ; now and 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


205 


then a mellow whistle from a passing steamer broke upon 
the air, as it glided by like a great spread-eagle, its head- 
lights streaming across the dark water, making a golden 
path, as if handsfull of topaz jewels were scattered there. 
The trees were silent specters against the deep, dark sky ; 
the hills upon the opposite shore rose like amber ghosts, and 
over all the stars shone pure and distant, like gleams of 
the light of heaven breaking through the black veil of 
night. 

Birdie and her companion stood looking on the peace 
and beauty of the scene, literally intoxicated with its 
glory. 

A skiff was passing in the distance, and faint and 
light the plash of the oars came over the water to them, 
and clear and sweet the sound of voices singing as the 
oarsmen rowed slowly and almost languidly on. 

‘ ‘ That is a picnic party, ” said V eary Elmore. ‘ ‘ I saw 
them this morning, and they are now on their way home.” 

“ O, how perfectly delightful ! ” said Birdie. “There 
is nothing that I delight in more than a moonlight row 
upon the water.” 

“There are the boats moored yonder,” said her com- 
panion ; “I wonder if they are secured.” 

“Yes,” said Birdie, “they always secure them for fear 
they will be taken away ; but I have a beautiful boat of 
my own, the prettiest on the river. Father bought it for 
me the other day, and I go out rowing nearly every after- 


200 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


noon ; but it is not half so delightful to me as the moon- 
light rows.” 

“ Suppose we go and join the excursionists,” said he; 
“ they haven’t passed yet, and it is quite early.” 

“ Well, let me run and ask father,” said she. “ I never 
do any thing without first consulting him.” 

“You are quite right, Miss Birdie,” said he, as she 
walked away. 

Going up to her father’s study, she tapped on the door. 

“Come in, child, ’’said Dr. Sinclare, quietly and ten- 
derly, but without looking up. 

He was sitting in his usual arm-chair, and near him was 
an ottoman, the same which Birdie used to sit upon w r hen 
she was a little child. 

By one of those gentle, womanly instincts that are 
generally safe to adopt as guides, she goes softly up to 
him and takes her place at his feet, just as she has often 
done before when she wanted to coax him to consent to 
some plan laid out by herself. The doctor smiled and 
laid his hand upon her head and smoothed her hair 
gently. “What is it, Birdie?” said he. “I know you 
are after something, for I have a good sign to go by.” 

“ What do you tell by, papa ? ” said she, looking up 
into his face. 

“Never mind what it is ; I know you have come for 
something, or you would never have left Mr. Elmore to 
come up here to sit with a dry old man like me.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


207 


‘‘You should not speak that way, papa,” said she, 
pouting her pretty lips, “ when you know that I love you 
better than any body in this whole world.” 

“I know that, my child,” said he, patting her head, 
“but I can’t help from feeling a little jealous of Mr. 
Elmore; but I would rather be jealous of him than anyone 
I know of at this time, for I think he is a splendid young 
man, and will one day make a brilliant star in his profes- 
sion. But why have you left him alone? You surely 
have not fallen out with him already ? ” 

“ O, no,” said Birdie; “we are the best of friends; and 
I am so glad you like him, papa, because I know you will 
then trust me with him — ” 

“To trust you with him, child? — to trust you with 
him — why, have you come to get my consent to the mar- 
riage?” said the doctor, nervously. 

“ Now just listen to you, papa. What are you talking 
about? Just as if I would leave you to marry anybody. 
Besides, Mr. Elmore don’t want to marry me, he only 
wants to take me rowing. Can I go, papa?” 

“Ah ! that’s it,” said the old doctor, smiling ; “ I began 
to think I was going to lose my little bird,” and he took 
up his pen and commenced writing, without giving her an 
answer to her question. 

“Say, papa, Mr. Elmore is waiting for me, and I am 
waiting for your answer. Can I go, dear ? One — two — 
if you don’t answer me before I say three, papa, I shall 


208 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


do something desperate ; ” and she arose and laid her 
arms around his neck. 

“Birdie,” said the doctor, “I am almost afraid to let 
you go ; there have been so many accidents lately. Only 
a few days ago two young ladies were drowned while row- 
ing, and I am afraid to trust you with any one else except 
myself.” 

“O, papa, there can be no danger with Mr. Elmore 
with me,” pleaded Birdie ; “besides, the wind is fine, and 
the night is as bright as day, and so many are out rowing. 
We have been out upon the veranda watching them for 
ever so long. Hark ! do you hear them singing ? It is the 
excursionists; O, I do want to go so bad, papa.” 

“There is no use in arguingwith a woman,” exclaimed 
her father, “she is going to have her way, and you are 
like the balance of them. I will have to give up, I guess ; 
but be careful, child, and don’t stay out too long.” 

“ That is a good, sweet, dear old darling,” said she, 
giving him a hug, and the next minute she was flying 
down stairs, and out upon the veranda where she had left 
Veary a few minutes before. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A ROW BY MOONLIGHT SAVED FROM A WATERY GRAVE. 

“ What a terrestrial paradise ! Surely it is a home for 
the fairies,” exclaimed Veary Elmore, as he and Birdie 
passed through the conservatory that was filled with flow- 
ers, fragrant mignonette, lemon-scented verbenas, purple 
heliotropes, into the beautiful fernery,, where the lamp- 
lights fell in shining showers upon the rich, green foliage, 
and the rippling, sparkling water of the fountain danced 
with musical rhythm in the deep basin below. 

The stars had stolen out one by one, until the heavens 
were all aglow with them from horizon to horizon. Silence 
had sunk down softly over the land, and even the trees 
scarcely whispered in their sleep. The pale rays of the 
moon began to creep through the still branches, and trace 
bright lines across the marble terrace, and twine her silvery 
fingers among the petals of the slumbering flowers. 

It was a time when love, if it lay in a man’s heart, 
would spring up into sudden, sweet life. The flowers of 
love had already bloomed in Veary Elmore’s heart, and as 
the beautiful Birdie walked by his side, he looked down 
the vista of possibilities of the future, and saw her fair, 

(209) 


210 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


sweet brow crowned with orange-flowers and a bridal-vail, 
standing at his side, and her little white hand clasped in his. 

All the force and strength, the hope and aim, the faith 
and passion of his soul were poured out in the one deep 
channel of an exhaustless love. 

The more he saw of her, the more he desired to be 
with her ; and he saw the net of destiny closing around 
him, and knew there would be no way of escape unless by 
breaking a chord, and at the snapping of that chord he 
would suffer a pang. 

“Love is a magnetism, drawing eye ’to eye, and soul 
to soul, and the potentiality of all heroism and of all crime. 
When it enters into a human heart it possesses it with all 
divine possibilities ; yet in the celestial light of its halo 
sleeps the fire that if evil influence should kindle it, it 
burns and brands deep as the mark on the brow of Cain. 
There is no hell to the depths of which love, maddened 
and misguided, may not hurl itself down — no heaven whose 
pure heights it may not scale.” 

On the moonlit shore two or three skiffs were pulled up. 
Under their keels the water was lapping in tiny, transpar- 
ent ripples on the rounded, shining pebbles. 

A red flag drooped at the rear of one of the boats, 
faintly fluttering in the light breeze that blowed down 
from the hill. 

“This is my boat,” said Birdie, going up to the one 
with the red flag. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


21 I 


“ It looks like a man-of-war,” said Veary, laughing, “ I 
suppose you will have me for your commander-in-chief, 
Miss Birdie, won’t you ?” 

“ Yes,” said Birdie, “and we’ll press all the yellow jack 
ets, bees, and wasps into service to fight the mosquitoes, 
for they are just terrible to-night. Let us hurry and push 
off from the shore, then they will not trouble us any more. 
Here is the key, and there is Thomas with the paddles; I 
took them up to the house for safe-keeping.” 

They took their seats in the skiff, and pushed off at last. 
As they left the shore they could hear the sounds of distant 
music and ringing laughter across the water, from the 
merry excursionists. 

Veary Elmore, who is not exempt from the besetting 
weakness of the nineteenth century, took out his fuse-box 
and lit a cigar. 

He was very fond of rowing; indeed it was the only 
athletic exercise he cared much about, or at any rate mu.ch 
indulged in. Being a good oarsman, their little boat soon 
caught up with the excursionists, and shot past them so 
quick they only caught a glance of them ; but every one 
turned their heads to look at the beautiful picture as they 
passed ; for Birdie was drooping languidly, gracefully as 
the dew-laden cup of the garden lily, against the red 
cushions piled at the side of the boat, and one hand trailing 
in the water, her eyes fixed with a half-reluctant look upon 
the paddles that rippled through the silvery waves. 


212 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


“I wish you would not look so lovely to-night, ” said 
Veary, and his eyes filled with a soft, tender light as he 
looked wistfully into her face. 

“Why?” she responded, and her large, dreamy eyes 
were upturned to his in a gentle, grave attention. 

“ Because it is dangerous,” he replied, with a mischiev- 
ous twinkle in his eyes. “ If I look at you much longer I 
shall be tempted to make love to you, and if you refuse to 
listen to me I should be prompted to capsize the boat.” 

“Well, what good would that do?” said Birdie, reluc- 
tantly. 

“ I should take you along to heaven with me ! ” he ex- 
claimed, “for I could not bear the thought of going alone, 
and leaving you behind for a more successful rival.” 

‘ ‘ It would be very doubtful whether you would accom- 
pany me there, after committing such a deed as that, Mr. 
Elmore,” said Birdie. “Indeed I would be afraid to ven- 
ture far with such a companion.” 

“Excuse me, Miss Birdie, I do believe I could be 
happy in pandemonium if I had you always to look at. 
I can now believe in the sirens of old,” he added; “they 
must have had just such eyes, such rich voices, and just 
such faces as yours. I should pity the man who hope- 
lessly loved you, for he had just as well be in pandemo- 
nium or some other horrible place.” 

“ I should imagine the man who would be stupid 
enough to fall in love with me would need to be pitied,” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 21 3 

she replied dreamily, as her fingers trailed through the 
water. 

“ If she loves any one, it will be easy for her to win,” 
he thought. 

How little he dreamed that the whole passionate love 
of her heart was given to himself! And the more she 
knew of him the more he was endeared to her — his single- 
mindedness, his chivalry, his faith in woman, and his re- 
spect for them was greater than she had seen in any other 
man, and she loved him for those qualities. The more she 
contrasted him with others the greater, deeper, and wider 
grew her love. And that love, so deep, so pure, and holy, 
sprang up and grew into maturity in only a few short 
hours. He filled the scope of her life so completely that 
it was strange, and almost impossible for her to realize 
that only a few hours ago she had not known him — that a 
few hours ago he was nothing to her. Her heart had laid 
still as a dark, sealed fountain, until under his gentle influ- 
ence the seal had melted and broken, and the prisoned 
power burst forth in an undying, passionate love. 

He thought her perfect on that evening in her white 
and amber silk, yet, if possible, she looked even better in 
her boating dress, with no jewels, no ribbons, or flowers, 
save a scarlet geranium at her throat. The masses of her 
golden hair were unfastened and hung in ringlets round 
her white neck ; there was a warm, bright flush on her 
cheeks, with the least touch of languor in her manner. 

15 


214 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


Her dress looked brilliant in the mellow moonlight, being 
of a silvery texture; the trimming was composed of small 
fern-leaves ; the effect of the dress was striking, and Birdie 
herself had never looked more lovely. 

“ Look at that smoke ! How gracefully it curls ! ” said 
she, gazing upon a steamier that was coming round a bend, 
leaving a blue-black mist in its train ; the lamplights from 
the pilot-house streamed down upon the water, throwing a 
glittering halo from shore to shore. On one side a string 
of big, heavy, bulky-looking barges glided by, black and 
ugly, like a trail of blots across the bright, quiet beauty of 
the river. 

“I don’t like those ugly looking things, ” said Birdie. 
“What a pity that everything is not lovely and beau- 
tiful ! ” 

“It would not do,” said Veary, “for a world without 
contrast is a world without joy. If we had no night we 
would not appreciate the glory of the sun. Look at that 
steamer ! How beautiful she looks by the side of that ugly 
barge ! Contrast makes her appear more lovely.” 

“Look, Mr. Elmore,” said Birdie, nervously, “we’re 
not on the side for the steamer to pass us. Hadn’t we 
better pull across to the Kentucky side?” 

“We shall strike those barges then if we don’t look 
sharp,” said he, excitedly. 

“But I think we will have time to fall in below the 
barge if you will pull away hard,” said Birdie. “ Let me 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 21 5 

help you,” and she grasped one of the paddles and rowed 
with all her strength, in spite of his opposition. 

The love of life is a master passion, and makes the 
feeble strong, the coward daring, the meekness of woman- 
hood cope with the force of man. 

They pulled hard, but the steamer was shooting along 
more rapidly and the barges were drifting out of their way 
slower than Veary Elmore thought. Instead of getting 
clear of the steamer they were actually crossing its path ; 
but they would have cleared it safely enough if Birdie, in 
her alarm at seeing the steamer so close upon them, had 
not seized the rope and jerked it the wrong way. The 
boat swung around in the swell of the steamer; it seemed 
that the steamer barely touched it, but in an instant it 
capsized and tossed its occupants into the river, close to 
the revolving paddle-wheel. All eyes were fastened on 
the spot where they went down and disappeared. There 
was the dull moan of severed waters — the troubled lilies 
trembled on the river’s breast — then, with a sighing sound, 
the wind swept over them and all was still ; and the waters 
flowed on upon their changeless course, with a melancholy 
murmur, as peaceful as if two living souls were not strug- 
gling for life in its deep, dark, liquid depth. 

The ladies on board the steamer were screaming and 
wringing their hands in terror, and the men were flinging 
ropes over the steamer’s sides. The groups on the side of 
the steamer were momentarily increasing as they sprang 


21 6 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


from their berths in terror, on hearing the screams of those 
on deck. 

“They must have been hit by the steamer,” shouted 
one man. 

“They went down like a ball of lead, all in a minute,” 
called out another. 

The excited group on the bank were watching, breath- 
lessly, and calling out injunctions to the boatmen, who 
shouted instructions in turn. 

“Hush! there is something coming up by that boat! 
There is the young man — there he is — and alone ! ” They 
stretched out their hands to help him into the boat, but 
he rejected the help, and in a hoarse voice exclaimed : 

“ Is she saved ? ” 

“ No, ” came from a hundred voices, ‘ ‘ she has not risen. ” 

“ God help me! ” he cried, with a ring of despair in his 
voice, and which all on board could never forget ; and he 
turned loose from the boat and the water smoothed over 
him. 

They waited and watched — it seemed hours, though it 
was only minutes that they waited. There was wild dis- 
order, delirious panic ; the agony of hope conflicting with 
the horrors of despair. 

At last, at last there was a shout. “Here he is ! here he 
is!” from one of the boats. Something white comes to the 
surface ; there is one moment’s breathless watching and 
then a ringing shout of “ Hurrah ! Hurrah !” goes up and 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


217 


pierces the heavens. “ Thank God, he has got her safe !” 
they cried, while eager hands were held out to help them 
into the nearest boat ; one a lifeless corpse, hanging a limp, 
heavy, helpless mass over their arms, as they managed to 
lift her over the side of the boat ; the other almost breath- 
less, not able to speak, and the water running in little 
rivulets from his hair and ears and nose. He was the cen- 
ter of an admiring, eager, congratulatory group, though 
he took no notice of the friendly offers and inquiries and 
compliments that surrounded him, but rushed to the side 
of the helpless, lifeless form of his darling, and clasped 
the cold, white hands in his trembling fingers and ex- 
claimed, 

“ Doctor! is she dead?” 

“ I fear there is not much hope,” said the gentle voice 
of Doctor St. George. “O! God!” said poor Veary, 
throwing up his hands and falling prostrate upon the 
floor. 

Doctor St. George, as it appeared, was a passenger on 
the steamer, and was the only physician on board, and did 
not recognize Veary Elmore until he had fallen senseless at 
his feet. 

“It is Veary Elmore!” exclaimed Doctor St. George. 
“Remove him to one of the berths, and wrap him in 
blankets, and rub him with brandy. I can not leave the 
young lady, we might possibly save her yet. - ” 

“I think it is only transitory faintness,” exclaimed an 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


old lady, looking over her spectacles, “and it will soon 
pass away. We had better try and bring the lady to. I 
wonder who she is ? It strikes me that I have seen her be- 
fore. What a pity that lovely dress is spoiled.” 

The kind doctor could not help smiling in the presence 
of death, at the old lady’s remarks, but he knew more 
about the young man than she did, for he had seen him 
fall senseless at his feet before, and he had nursed him 
through a long and dangerous spell of brain fever. 

An hour of almost breathless watching and waiting 
had elapsed, when Doctor St. George exclaimed, “Thank 
God! she lives — she breathes; bring some brandy.” And 
he put a little in her mouth, and chaffed her face and 
hands and feet until she was restored to life. 

She opened her eyes and gazed around her. She could 
not speak. Finally with an effort, she whispered in a 
hoarse voice, “ Is he — is he — ■?” 

The doctor comprehended her meaning, and said in a 
gentle tone of voice, 

“Your friend Mr. Elmore, is safe. We have him in 
the next room. Don’t be alarmed ; you have had a narrow 
escape, but if you will just be quiet and compose yourself, 
you will be all right in a few days.” 

As the steamer was on her way to Louisville, they were 
taken to that city, and a dispatch was sent to her father, 
who came for her in a close carriage. He was almost fran- 
tic with grief, for they had not returned home, and he 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


219 


could hear no tidings from them. Some one had passed 
that way and had spread the news all through the country 
around that a young couple had been capsized in the 
river and drowned, and that was the only information he 
could obtain. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


birdie’s surprise, or the miniature in the woods. 

Three months had passed in quick succession since the 
night Veary Elmore had saved Birdie Sinclare from a wa- 
tery grave, and those three months wrought a great change 
in this fair young girl. From that hour, her whole heart 
had gone out to him. At first she did not understand the 
change that had come over her. She only knew that his 
presence made Elysium to her — his absence, desolation ; 
that the sound of his voice made her heart beat wildly, her 
hands tremble, her face burn ; that if he touched her hand, 
that touch seemed to thrill her whole soul ; that when he 
entered a room it was as though all sunshine and all glad- 
ness came into it ; that when he left it, darkness and deso- 
lation reigned ; that in all the music of nature, she only 
heard his voice, and that earth appeared fairer. Every 
thing was changed for her. And then it dawned upon her 
that this meant love — nothing else but love, about which 
she had dreamed, and puzzled, and wondered. He was 
the hero of her dreams — the ideal had come at last. And 
he was the one love of her heart and soul she knew no 
other; no other man had ever had the power to charm her. 
(220) 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


221 


Her ideal was realized ; beyond that realization she never 
went. She was happy, and yet miserable. She enjoyed 
the magnificence, the wealth, that surrounded her; she 
enjoyed the homage laid at her feet; but she enjoyed the 
vague, dreamy happiness of her inner life better than all. 
Her heart and soul thrilled with the vague, sweet poetry of 
life. The crown of womanhood was won, and the diadem 
placed upon her fair brow. 

Any man would have been proud of that love. Any 
man would have been proud to have claimed her for his 
wife, had she been as poor as “Job’s turkey,” but she 
was the sole heiress of the wealthy and honorable Doctor 
Sinclare. Stately as a duchess; as beautiful as a poet’s 
dream ; gifted and intellectual ; and as pure in heart as a 
little child — full of beautiful thoughts — her mother’s only 
legacy — wondering with a grave, solemn, child-like won- 
der what was to be her ultimate fate; what grand destiny 
awaited her; a girl of the rarest type, noble in soul, lofty, 
but proud to a degree ; not vain, for vanity was never one 
of her faults; not vain of her beauty nor her wealth, but 
proud in the highest, broadest, noblest sense, detesting 
every thing mean and dishonorable. 

Veary Elmore had been a constant visitor at her father’s 
house ever since that never-to-be-forgotten night, but he 
had never made an open declaration of his love to her, 
though he had shown her in every way that she was his 
idol. It was love at first sight ; he worshiped at her shrine. 


222 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


From that first moment when her violet eyes, with 
their dreamy look of wonder were turned up to him, he 
loved her with a love that was his doom. She was the one 
love of his heart and soul. He thought no beauty in the 
world equaled hers. He laughed at the idea that people 
had ever hinted at him to marry that Miss Fuss-and- 
Feathers, with her sharp nose, and pitch eyes, and greasy 
black hair. 

“I will marry Birdie Sinclare, or I will never marry 
any one, for there is no use in talking, I never can, nor 
ever will, love any one else, and I will ask her to be my 
wife before another week passes, and if she refuses me — 
well, I will start for Europe the next day,” and he threw 
up his head with a quick effort, to conquer the morbid 
feelings that pressed upon him heavily. ‘ ‘ I wonder what 
that old Scullcutter is after,” he mused as he rode along. 
“This makes the third time he has been there. I wonder 
what his motive is; surely it can’t be to see Birdie; he is 
old enough for her father; besides his wife has not been 
dead six months yet. I must speak to Birdie about 
him the next time I see her. I suppose he will try to put 
her against me by telling her my father was a drunkard, 
but I guess he will not tell her he was the cause of it ; that 
he had in his possession to-day, that which should be my 
own right and property. I shall tell her all when I see 
her. She shall first hear from my own lips that my father 
filled a drunkard’s grave, and not from the lips of a foe. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


223 


She must not allow him to visit her, for he is too vile to 
enter her presence, although his money covers up his 
meanness, and to some people, the shining ore covers the 
black spots in his character. But Birdie is different from 
most of people, thank God, and his money will have no 
more effect on her than so much trash. She is getting so 
reserved of late, ” he mused. ‘ ‘ She used to be so frank and 
confiding, and now she is getting as shy as a wild bird, 
and blushes every time I go near her. I wonder what is 
the matter?” 

Yes, there was a change in Birdie that could be seen 
by any one who did not profess to be a close observer. 
Shyly, timidly she would look at him. He was a man to 
be proud of — a man to love. But he must never know 
that she had given her heart all unasked. She was so 
fearful that he should think her unwomanly ; so afraid that 
he should imagine she wanted his love, that she took ref- 
uge in cold, shy, proud avoidance, which increased the 
distance between them, and each moment fanned the 
flame that was consuming her heart and soul. No one 
guessed what a storm of unrequited love and pain, warred 
under the calm, proud exterior. 

One evening in the latter part of October, Dr. Sinclare 
was sitting alone in his study; the sky was bright and the 
wind was as sweet as in summer, for the summer weather 
still lingered and seemed unwilling to go. Flowers that 
should have died before were still living; birds that 


224 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


should long since have sought a summer clime were still 
singing. 

“ Papa, can I come in a little while, if you are not too 
busy?” said a sweet voice. 

“ Yes, child, I am never too busy to talk to you,” he 
replied, as Birdie came in and laid her arm around his 
neck. 

“Why, it is quite an age since I last saw you — not 
since dinner. Where have you been? You are getting 
to be almost a stranger.” 

“ And you a regular pet,” said she, stooping down and 
kissing him on the cheek. “ I have been over to see the 
Hinkeyfords and take them some nourishment,” she 
added. “ Poor Mrs. Hinkeyford, I don’t think she will live 
long. Papa do you think she will?” 

“She may live a couple of months, or she may die to- 
night ; there is no telling ; consumption is a very flattering 
disease.” 

“O, I do hope she may live until after — ” 

“ After what, ” said her father, a little puzzled at seeing 
her pause in her sentence and turn red in the face. 

“ O, nothing, papa,” said she, seating herself in his 
lap. “ That was awful cruel of me to have such thoughts, 
but I did not mean any disrespect to poor Mrs. Hinkey- 
ford, but I do so much want Grace to come to the ball.” 

“What ball, child? You are always talking in prov- 
erbs to me.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


225 


“ Well, that was just what I came to tell you. I mean 
that I have come to ask you to let me give a ball in honor 
of Mr. Elmore’s departure for Europe. Now I have said 
it ; can I, papa, can I ? ” 

“ So that was the weighty matter you wanted to discuss 
eh ? and you don’t want Mrs. Hinkeyford to die until after 
the ball, is that it? Well, I guess we will have to send up 
a special message to have her death postponed until after 
the ball, shall we not? ” 

“O, you naughty papa, you,” pinching him on the 
cheek, “you take a delight in teasing me. You know she 
will have to die some time,” said she innocently, “and if 
she could live until after the ball, why Grace could come ; 
if she does not, she can’t. That’s all there is about it. 
Besides she is anxious for Grace to come if we have one, 
that is, if she is living.” 

“You are a regular genius,” said he, smiling down 
into her face. “You can fix up things just to suit yourself. 
When is your ball to take place?” 

“ That depends upon your decision, ” said she. “You 
have not told me whether I could have it or not.” 

“A special pleader indeed. Diplomacy is your forte. 
You should keep to it.” 

“I mean to. But should I plead in vain with you, 
should I ? ” She had grown somewhat earnest. 

“O! with me!” said Dr. Sinclare, with much self- 
contempt; “I have given up all that sort of thing long 


226 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


ago. I know how much too strong you are for me, and I 
am too wise to even try to swim against the tide. Only I 
would entreat you to be merciful as you are strong.” 

“I will,” said she, “if you won’t talk any more non- 
sensical chat, you silly boy you,” said Birdie, who was 
now standing at the back of his chair combing his hair, 
and declared it had not been combed since the last time 
she combed it. 

“When is Mr. Elmore going to leave for Europe?” 
exclaimed her father, after there had been silence for sev- 
eral moments. 

“ He is going next month,” said Birdie, as she drew a 
long sigh. 

“And you have really run him off? ” 

“Now, just listen to you, papa, how have I run him 
off? I don’t know what has caused him to change his 
mind. He told me that he was going next summer, and 
he was here a few days ago and said that he was going to 
start on the first.” 

“I am sorry he is going to leave us so soon, for I 
really liked the young man, and was in hopes I should 
have him for my son-in-law one of these days. I wonder 
who his father was ? Some of Judge Elmore’s relations, I 
guess. It is strange he never married. I suppose Veary 
will be his heir. ” 

At that instant the door bell rang, and before Birdie 
had time to escape a gentleman was ushered into the pres- 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


227 


ence of Dr. Sinclare. Birdie bowed very gracefully and 
walked out of her father’s study, and started up to her 
room ; then she paused and turned to the open door, as 
though the house was too small to contain all the thoughts 
that thronged her breast. She walked out into the garden 
where autumn, though kindly and slowly in its advances, 
was touching every thing with the hand of death. Birdie 
passed by it all, unmindful of its beauty. With a sigh 
she quit her beloved garden and wandered still further 
abroad into the deep woods that had already put their 
glory on and looked lovely in their dress of tender russets 
and sad green, and fading tints that met and melted into 
each other. 

The daylight was fading softly, imperceptibly, but surely. 
There was yet a glow from the departing sunlight that was 
sinking lazily beyond the distant hills, and tinged with 
gold the earth lying in her shroud of leaves. Masses of 
crimson clouds, edged with purple and gold, appeared to 
be making a bed for the sun to lie on ; the roseate light 
seemed to linger amongst the trees and flowers. Silence 
reigned unbroken. All the feathery tribe of the aerial 
regions were pruning their downy plumage and murmur- 
ing sleepy lullabies ere sinking to their rest. Scarce a 
sound could be heard save the distant lowing of cattle and 
the drowsy drone of a slumberous bee as it floated idly by. 

There was such a deep silence amongst the trees, as 
she went along, that it seemed to Birdie’s excited fancy as 


228 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


though this were a mystical evening, holding strange 
secrets and strange meaning, and seemed to oppress her 
with many discordant thoughts. She felt so sad, so 
lonely, so desolate, as she wandered along, now and then 
stopping to pluck a favorite flower, or listen to the whistle 
of some lone bird that had lost its mate. The echo of her 
father’s words were still ringing in her ears, “I wonder 
who his father was.” “ What would I give to know who 
my father is,” she exclaimed vehemently. ‘‘To know 
who I am and what I am ! Am I always to live in a shroud 
of mystery, and must my future ever lie behind a cloud? 
If poor Veary was living perhaps there would be some 
hopes of my knowing; but he is dead, and I shall never 
know until I meet my dear parents at the bar of God. 
Hark! I thought I heard a noise.” She looked down and 
right under her feet was a hen’s nest. Madam was sur- 
rounded by a battalion of young chickens, and she seemed 
to say, “Now see what a treat I have in store for you, 
Miss Birdie, just because I stole my nest off where that 
miserable peacock could not trouble me.” 

“Well done thou good and faithful servant,” said 
Birdie, stooping down to gather up some of the young 
chickens in her hands, for it was a treat sure enough 
at that time of the year. Presently her eyes fell upon 
some glittering object that was half concealed by the wings 
of Madam Hen. She reached forth her hands and drew it 
out. She turned deathly white, and her lips grew purple 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 229 

as she exclaimed, “ A locket, and my locket too ! the very 
same that I had when I was a. child/' She pressed upon 
the spring and it flew open, revealing the miniature of her 
long-lost brother, Veary Carlisle. 

“ O, Veary, Veary ! ” she exclaimed clasping the mini- 
ature to her breast. ‘ ‘ I never thought to see your dear fece 
again in this world. Surely kind providence directed my 
wandering footsteps to this spot. Who could have lost it 
here?” said she, kissing it again and again. “It is so 
strange, so mysterious ; it must be all a dear, sweet dream, 
and I shall awake directly and find your dear image turned 
to nothing in my hand.” 

An hour had passed, and twilight had shut down and 
darkened all the land, and Birdie goes back to her home. 
On reaching the library, she looks in to find her father sit- 
ting there engrossed as usual in some book, which he laid 
upon the table the moment Birdie entered the room, 
though an indescribable sadness rested upon his face 
which Birdie had never seen there before. 

“Why, papa, darling, you look as dull as a grave-dig- 
ger,” said she, coming up and laying her arms around his 
neck. “It seems so very strange,” she added, “that 
every time Mr. Scullcutter comes here he seems to throw 
a gloom over you, papa. I wish he would never come 
here again.” 

“If you knew what he came for, perhaps you would 
not speak in that way. You would not speak disrespect 

16 


230 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


fully of a man because he conferred an honor upon you — 
the highest honor a gentleman could confer upon a lady.” 

'‘What do you mean, papa,” said Birdie, “by saying 
that Mr. Scullcutter had conferred an honor upon me ? I 
firmly believe that your mind is wandering.” 

“ Can’t you guess, Birdie?” 

“No, papa, I can’t guess; I just supposed there was 
another stag party on hand, or a deer hunt.” 

“You have guessed right,” he said, laughing with an 
effort; “it is a dear hunt, sure enough, and he trailed it 
right to this house.” 

“Well, did he catch it, papa?” said Birdie. 

“Catch it,” exclaimed her father, “no, he has not 
caught it yet, and it will depend upon you whether he 
catches it or not.” 

“What do you mean, papa?” said Birdie, sinking 
down in a chair, and laying her head upon the table and 
looking into his face like a tired child. “ You are always 
talking in proverbs to me ; I wish you would be more ex- 
plicit ; if you don’t, I shall have a nervous chill.” 

“Are you prepared for a shock from a powerful bat- 
tery? ” exclaimed her father, stroking her glossy hair with 
a trembling hand. 

“ Now, I am not going to have any more of that non- 
sensical chat,” said she, pinching his cheeks. “ I shall 
give you until I can count three to tell me — one — two — do 
you hear, papa ? ” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


231 


“ Well,” said he, “ I guess I had just as well out with 
it — he has asked for your hand in marriage. That is the 
honor which he has conferred upon you. And now the 
dreadful announcement is made — the words that have been 
so hard to utter have at last gone out into the air ; and 
now what answer am I to give him, Birdie ? Do you care 
any thing for him ? He is a good chance — I mean, he is 
wealthy, and you will always have plenty, and will never 
know a want that wealth can shield you from.” 

For a moment silence reigns, and then Birdie arose and 
laid her arms around his neck. He is looking straight 
before him, his expression troubled and grave, his mouth 
compressed. 

“Father,” said she, firmly, “could you be happy to 
see Fen Scullcutter lead your daughter to the marriage 
altar? Speak the truth, papa; tell me if it will be essen- 
tial to your happiness ; if so, I will marry him — I mean 
that I am willing to make the sacrifice to promote your 
happiness.” 

“ Sacrifice, child ; I do not want you to make any sac- 
rifice of your pure, innocent life,” said the old doctor, 
pressing her to his heart; “but, darling, why do you 
speak thus? what have you against Mr. Scullcutter, Bir- 
die ? Iam sure he is handsome, wealthy, and courteous, 
and loves you.” 

“ My objections are very grave,” she replied. “ In the 
first place, he is old enough for my father; and second, I 


232 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

do not love him, and would not if I could, for he has not 
one spark of true manhood in his veins ; and third, he is 
a coward, and the man that I could love and respect and 
honor as a husband would have to be a brave man.” 

‘ ‘ Pray where did you get your information ? ” said her 
father, looking at her in surprise. 

‘ ‘ Experience taught me a part, and the balance came 
from the lips of truth. The night I came so near being 
drowned, he was in a skiff, and so near me I could have 
.touched him with my paddle, and he would not raise his 
hand to try to save my life. Now do you think I could 
even have respect for that man, papa, much less love for 
him?” 

‘‘Perhaps he did not recognize you, my child. If he 
had, I am quite sure he would have done all in his power 
to save your life. ” 

“If he had been a brave man he would not have wait- 
ed to see who it was. He knew two souls were on the 
brink of eternity, and struggling for life, and he would not 
raise a hand to save us, and I have had a perfect contempt' 
for him ever since. Besides, he turned poor Mrs. Wil- 
liams out into the street, with her five orphan children, 
without a morsel to eat, because she was sick and could 
not pay the rent, while he had thousands of dollars in his 
pocket. I don’t suppose he ever gave a dollar for benevo- 
lent purposes in his life ; and if he did, I guess he made it 
up by cheating his laborers out of their honest wages.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


233 


“You are too hard, Birdie,” said her father. “Upon 
my word, if you women don’t remind me of fire-crackers 
— all that is required is to strike a match, and if they don’t 
go off I’m a Dutchman.” 

Birdie makes no reply to this — perhaps because she has 
not one ready. 

“ I shall not live long, my child, and I want you to 
marry some good man who will be able to bestow the 
same tender care upon you that I have done,” he added, 
stroking her hair. 

“ I shall never leave you, papa — never, never, so long 
as we both live,” and a tear came into her eyes and trem- 
bled upon her lids. She is sitting on his knee now, with 
her arms around his neck, and her cheek against his ; and 
he is holding her sweet, lissome figure close to his heart. 
She is the one thing he has to love on earth, and just now 
she seems unspeakably, almost painfully, dear to him. 

“ Always, my dear?” he reiterated, with somewhat of 
unsteadiness. 

“Yes, always; and I love you, papa, better than any 
one living; I don’t want you to ask me to marry that Fen 
Scullcutter any more, because I don’t want to disobey you 
in any thing. I said just now that I would marry him to 
please you, but that would not be right, and if you insist 
upon my marrying him I shall have to run away and leave 
you, and that will kill me ; and then you will have no one 
to love you.” 


234 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

“My darling,” said he, “do not fear, I will never ask 
you to marry him or any one else. You are as free as the 
wild birds in the forest; choose for yourself — but, darling, 
make a good choice.” 

“Thank you, papa,” said she, “I thank you for those 
blessed words, and I am glad from my heart that you feel 
that way ; for one half the sin, the anguish, and the heart- 
aches caused by unhappy marriages may be laid at the 
threshold of parents. Before a girl is old enough to think 
for herself or to know her own mind, her parents are plan- 
ning and surmising and contriving in every possible way 
to get her a husband — just as if marriage was the only aim 
of a woman's life or her only vocation. Instead of teach- 
ing them the duties and responsibilities of life — the duties 
they owe to their parents and themselves, how to beautify 
and make their homes happy, should they ever be fortu- 
nate enough to have one — they are taught to sit back in 
idleness, waiting for a husband to support them ; and the 
first one comes along that she thinks is able to indulge her 
in laziness and extravagance, she marries. And should 
the time ever come when he could not furnish her with 
money and servants, she hasn’t sense enough to fill her 
position as a true wife should, and consequently they both 
become tired and disgusted with each other, and quarrels 
and contentions and discords follow, with a divorce-suit to 
cap the climax, and disgrace comes down upon the heads 
of their innocent offspring.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


235 


“That sin can never be laid at my door,” said her 
father, “for you have been raised differently from what 
most girls have been in your position. I have tried to 
raise you right, and bring you up in a manner that should 
fit you for any position that might fall to your lot ; and I 
am not at all anxious for you to marry. I am selfish 
enough not to want you to leave me even for one day ; 
but I know my time is short in this world, and when I am 
gone you will be left alone without a friend, and perhaps 
without a dollar. I may not be able to leave you even a 
home. It is a hard thing for me to say, daughter, and 
my poor heart is well-nigh broken, but it is true — yes, it 
is true, and the only thing for you to do is to try and 
marry well. I can not bear the thought of my little Birdie 
being torn from its feathery nest to perch upon some leaf- 
less branch, to be beaten by the storms of this tempest- 
uous world.” 

As he spoke the tears streamed down his withered 
cheek, and fell upon Birdie’s white hand resting upon her 
father’s bosom. 

“My poor, dear darling!” said she, kissing his tear- 
stained cheeks, “how you are wearing, and fretting your 
dear life out for my sake, when poor, simple me is not 
worth it. You have already done more than I could ever 
repay were I to live to be a hundred ; with that I am sat- 
isfied and grateful. Now don’t worry any more about 
your little Birdie, for I am well competent to take care of 


236 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

myself, should it please God to take you from me, which 
I trust He will not until I am ready to accompany you to 
yours and my last resting-place. Now I want you to un- 
lock your dear old heart and let me look right into it — 
don’t keep any thing concealed, but throw open every 
chamber, parlor, bed-room, dining-room, and even the 
kitchen, and let me know every thing that is going on. 
Do you hear me, papa? Can you not let me share your 
sorrows, when I have shared all your pleasures ? Tell me 
now, is it not that Scullcutter that has caused you all this 
trouble? Do you owe him money, papa? ” 

‘‘Yes, my child,” said her father, “he is in possession 
of all I have ; he has a mortgage on every thing I possess, 
but said he would not close the mortgage, and would give 
me time to pay up my debts. To-day, when he was here, 
he confessed his love for you, and asked for your hand in 
marriage, saying that if you consented to become his wife 
he would not call on me for the money, and that I might 
retain my property. That is why I consented, should you 
care enough for him to marry him, though I knew he was 
not a suitable companion for you, Birdie, but it was all for 
your sake, my darling, all for your sake.” 

“I would not marry him if he was worth ten millions ! ” 
said Birdie, turning almost purple in the face; “and 
should I ever become so low as to sell myself for money I 
will not be purchased by my grandfather ; that sin, how- 
ever, shall not rest upon my head so long as there is one 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


237 


spark of true womanhood in my veins. Any woman who 
will marry a man merely for his money is devoid of prin- 
ciple, and would be equal to almost any crime should her 
morals be tested.” 

“You must not be too hard on your own sex, my 
child,” said the old doctor, laying his hand upon her head, 
for he looked upon woman as being a little lower than 
the angels, and just above the head of man. 

“Woman’s situation is a very perilous one,” he added 
with much gravity, “if she is blessed with husband or 
father to protect her from the abuses of the world, the 
world smiles upon her and makes her an idol, but if she 
has neither, and no money to purchase friends, and be 
compelled to go out and work for her living, that moment 
the damnable finger of suspicion is pointed at her, it 
matters not how good and pure her life has been, and 
society is ready to cast her out. This is very hard for a 
proud, high-minded, and honorable woman to endure ; 
and rather than bear the scorn and contempt of the 
world she will sell herself to some old man for his money 
that she may retain her station in society. I mean that 
numerous class of narrow-minded, little-souled people who 
can cover up a black deed with a gold dollar, and go on 
smiling and the world will smile back. At the same time 
they would turn up their noses at a poor but honorable 
woman, and who, perhaps, never knew how to do a mean 
act, and whose shoes they are not worthy to unlace.” 


238 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


“I suppose then,” said Birdie, “that when I go out to 
work for my living I will not be respectable.” 

“You will not hold your same position in society,” 
said her father. “Those perhaps that smile upon you 
now will only give you a slur.” 

“Well,” said she with a sigh, “ I shall never want any 
one to smile upon me again. I can never have any more 
confidence in any one save you and Veary, papa.” 

“I did not mean to chill your heart against humanity, 
my child,” said he, “for there are some good people in 
the world if you could only pick them out — firm and sub- 
stantial — without them the world would be of little con- 
sequence. Separate the wheat from the chaff and put it 
in separate piles upon the ground, in a few days the chaff 
will be dispersed, blown away by every passing breeze, 
while the wheat will remain firm, and should there come 
storms sufficient to scatter it to the four quarters of the 
world it will sprout up and bring forth good grain, while 
the chaff flies hither and thither, doing no good in the 
world and finally rots and leaves no footprints behind to 
tell that it ever existed. Just so with the people of the 
world; if you were to pick out all the good and sensible 
people and leave all the fools I doubt whether there would 
be enough left to tell the tale ; and should it ever fall to 
your lot to have to work for your living, bear this in mind • 
that it is the good and sensible people who will cry out God 
speed you ; they are the wheat, and those who look upon 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


239 


you with scorn are the chaff, and will soon blow away. 
But it was not my intention to deliver a lecture this even- 
ing, and as you are pretty well posted upon the subject I 
will desist, with your permission.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE CHAMBER OF DEATH. 

Night has drawn its sable curtain, stained with gold, 
over the sleeping World ; the stars looked down in holy, 
solemn peace; and the somber trees towering upward 
and lying heavily against the sky, seem to hold mystical 
converse with each other, and looked down upon the 
silent mournful scene. The gurgling brooks murmured in 
tranquil measures on their way. There was a whispering 
of the leaves on which the breath of heaven played music 
to the birds that slumbered. The far-off sound of the 
katydids could be heard ; the crickets’ notes, incessant and 
unmusical, tired the night. All nature seemed to sink in 
one grand repose, and misery and death took their part. 

“ Time builds on the ruins itself has made. It destroys 
to renew, and desolates to improve. A wise and benevo- 
lent Providence has thus marked its progress in the moral 
as well as in the physical world. The tide which has 
borne past generations to the ocean of eternity, is hasten 
ing to the same doom the living mass now gliding down 
ward to the shoreless and unfathomed reservoir.” Change 
and decay are ever at work, and to-night it has laid its fin 
(240) 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


241 


ger heavily upon the beautiful home of Birdie Sinclare. 
In one single night a heavy cloud, black and murky, has 
shut down, shutting out all the sunshine and crushing a 
pure and tender heart. In the darkened room, through 
the closed blinds of which the pale rays of the moon are 
vainly striving to enter, lies Dr. Sinclare, cold and rigid. 
The sheet is reverently drawn across the motionless limbs ; 
the once handsome, quiet face is hidden ; all around is 
wrapped in solemn unutterable silence — the silence that 
belongs to death alone. 

A sense of oppressive calm is upon every thing — a 
feeling of loneliness, vague and shadowy. The clock has 
ticked its last an hour ago, and now stands motionless in 
its] place. The world without moves on unheeding ; the 
world within knows time no more ; death reigns triumph- 
ant ; life sinks into insignificance. Once a little silver ray 
born of the moon, fell in through some unknown chink, 
and cast itself gleefully upon the fair white linen of the 
bed. It trembled vivaciously, now here, now there, in 
uncontrollable joyousness, as though seeking in its gayety 
to mock the grandeur of the King of Terror. 

“ Take them, O, Death, and bear away 
Whatever thou canst call thine own; 

Thine image stamped upon this day 
Doth give thee that, and that alone. 

Take them, O, Grave ! and let them lie 
Folded upon thy narrow shelves, 


242 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


As garments by the soul laid by, 

And precious only to ourselves. 

Take them, O, Great Eternity, 

Our little life, ’ tis but a gust 
That bends the branches of the trees. 

And trails its blossoms in the dust.” 

When Fen Scullcutter received Birdie’s refusal, he 
became so enraged that he closed the mortgage instantly, 
and without reservation. Every thing was advertised to 
be sold at sheriff’s sale, even the beautiful, peaceful home 
where Dr. Sinclare had spent the happy years of his boy- 
hood, the glory of his manhood, and the quiet, peaceful 
days of his old age. 

Like the steady oak that had withstood the storms of 
many years, and at last felled to the earth by the wood- 
man’s ax, so he was stricken down by the heavy blow, 
crushed and broken. 

It was not for himself he mourned his loss, but for the 
friendless child he had reared, and had learned to love as 
his own ; and all these years he had lived, and thought, 
and hoped but for her; and now, all is at an end. Never 
until now, this moment, when hope has flown, and mon- 
ster death stares him in the face, does he know how freely, 
how altogether, he has lavished the entire affections of his 
heart upon her. From day to day faithful Birdie sat by 
her father’s bedside, anticipating his every wish, and ad- 
ministering to his every want. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


243 


“Birdie,” said he, a few minutes before his death, 
“come and sit where I can see you, my darling, where I 
can see your face ; I have something to say to you before 
I go, and I must say it quick ; I can not die with this 
heavy weight upon my heart.” 

Birdie took a seat upon the bed where he could look 
upon her face, stained by the traces of tears still wet upon 
her cheeks, and like some dew-spangled flower she looked 
more lovely in her tears. 

He raised his eyes and gazed tenderly upon her as she 
took his cold, white hand in hers, and said, ‘ ‘ What weight 
can you have, papa, darling? You who are so good, so 
noble, so true — the best of all men. Your mind is wan- 
dering, dear ; it is only the fever that causes you to have 
those bad feelings. Now banish such thoughts, and try 
to sleep ; you will feel better when you awake.” 

‘ ' No darling, I am in my right mind, but the uncertainty 
about your future life is the only weight that presses upon 
me,” said the dying man with some excitement. “ If you 
were provided for, I could die happy ; but it is hard to die 
and leave you, my darling, to fight this cruel world alone 
and unprotected — you on whom I have lavished all the 
love and affection of my lonely heart — you Birdie, you ;” 
— and he held out his arms as though he expected every 
moment he would be snatched away from her ere he could 
tell her all. 

She threw her arms around him, and laid her head upon 


244 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


the pillow close to him, pressing her lips to his — the soft, 
warm lips contrasted so painfully with those pale, cold 
other ones they touched. So she remained for some min- 
utes kissing him softly every now and again, and thinking 
hopelessly of the end. 

She neither sighed nor wept nor made any outward 
sign of anguish. Unlike most people, she had realized to 
its full extent the awfulness of this thing that was about to 
befall her ; and the knowledge paralyzed her senses, ren- 
dering her dull with misery. “ Papa, darling, do not think 
of me,” said Birdie, in a voice so unnaturally calm as to 
betray the fact that she was making a supreme effort to 
steel herself against the betrayal of emotion of any kind ; 
but in her heart she was weeping- and moaning and giving 
herself up wholly to that grim monster — despair. 

“ Do not think of you, darling!” said the dying man, 
pressing her closer to his almost pulseless heart ; “ it would 
be impossible, my little orphan ; the memory of your dear, 
sweet face will go with me to the better land ; and I shall 
know you one day, from all the shining hosts of God.” 

As the clock struck two, he solved, or ceased to heed 
the engrossing question of life. The glorious mind, the 
tried and faithful heart were nothing, or immortal. In 
death, as in life, the face of Dr. Sinclare bore the impres- 
sion of that intellect which placed him in the rank with 
those great minds, the movers of the nation in the years 
gone by. The countenance wore a calm and peaceful ex- 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


245 


pression. The massive forehead, broad and smooth, 
betrayed no sign of the sufferings through which the body 
had passed. 

His death, so unexpected, created a feeling of sorrow 
throughout the country. The press of his own, and other 
cities, paid heartfelt, full, and lofty tribute to his memory. 
The funeral was the largest ever seen in the city. The 
remains were deposited in the family vault in Cave Hill ; a 
few remarks were made by the man of God, a prayer was 
offered, and the iron doors closed upon the cold, rigid 
form, to await the last summons which is to call him before 
the great Judge of the universe. 

Birdie, lonely and sorrowfully returned to her desolate, 
but once happy home; though hers no longer; but I trust 
that the glorious rays of the setting sun, and the silvery 
gleam of the evening stars, which have so often witnessed 
the many happy days she has spent beneath that paternal 
roof, may still fall in streams of softest splendor upon her 
lonely pathway; and that white- winged peace may hover 
around her, while other scenes, and other pursuits await 
her upon the journey of life. 

The blackest clouds but hide the sunshine ; 

Look beyond and see the light, 

There’s future pleasure in glad some time ; 

Live on, and hope for days more bright. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE CONFESSION OF A DYING MAN. 

The web of our story has now been woven ; the piece 
nearly finished, and it is only necessary that the loose 
threads should be collected, so that there may be no un- 
raveling. In such chronicles as this, something no doubt 
might be left to imagination without serious injury to the 
narrative, but the reader, I think, feels a deficiency when, 
through tedium or coldness, the writer omits to give all the 
information which she or he possesses. To do this, we 
will have to take a leap backward of eighteen years; and 
not only in time but in distance. 

Eighteen years have been buried in the vault of time 
since we saw Dr. St. George on that sweet May evening, 
lying a helpless mass upon his wife’s grave. Eighteen 
years since his little crowing infant was snatched ruthlessly 
away from his protecting care and loving embrace, leaving 
him a heart-broken and desolate man. Eighteen years 
since the tragedy of sorrow fell between him and the 
dawning happiness of his life ; though prosperity sits upon 
the house-top and proclaims the glory of his success ; not 
only as an eminent physician, but in all his business rela- 
(246) 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


247 


tions, and to-day finds him one among the wealthy citizens 
of Kentucky. Yet, all this does not bring contentment 
to his restless soul. There is only one thing alone, that 
will bring joy to his heart, peace to his soul and the glad 
light in his eyes ; and that is, the restoration of his lost 
darling — to see her face ; to hear her voice ; and feel her 
arms around his neck ; but he knows that will never be ; 
that he will never behold her face again, or hear her lips 
utter that blessed word, “father.” 

He had offered large sums of money for her recovery, 
but in spite of all that was said and done, she remained 
undiscovered. Months grew into years, and the same 
mystery prevailed. He was desperate at first — his anguish 
and sorrow were pitiful to witness ; but after a time he 
grew passive in his despair, though he never relaxed in his 
efforts. Every six months the advertisement with the offer 
of reward was renewed ; every six months the story was 
re-told in the papers. It had become one of the common 
topics of the day ; people talked of her strange disappear- 
ance ; of the mysterious silence that had fallen over her. 
Then, as years passed on, it was agreed that she was dead. 

After years of bitter disappointment, of anguish, and 
suspense ; of unutterable sorrow and despair, he resigned 
himself to the entire loss of his child. Then there came a 
letter to him one day, requesting him to come to his dying 
child. He went as quick as possible, and before him lay 
a beautiful little girl, who was already embraced in the 


248 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

arms of death, and ere long her little cold hands were fold- 
ed peacefully across her pulseless heart. He was told by 
the keeper of the house that it was his child, and how 
could he dispute it, when the little gold chain and locket, 
with his wife’s miniature was around its neck? He knew 
there was no disputing that and he knew too that it was 
the same that had been placed around its neck upon the 
•eve of their departure for the springs. After paying the 
man a large sum of money, he took the child to his own 
beautiful home and laid it to rest by the side of his wife, 
and planted flowers over her little grave; and the dark 
green ivy that trailed so gracefully around his wife’s tomb, 
soon embraced the marble slab of the little unknown. 
And all these years he believed that his little darling was 
sleeping beneath that little green mound beneath the 
roses; and often his friends would find him there in the 
still quiet hours of the "ight pouring out his grief upon 
her little grave. 

One evening in May, he was sitting alone in his office, 
and thinking sadly of the past, the past that had brought 
him so much sorrow and had given him so little joy. 

It seems impossible while looking on the surging cata- 
ract dashing itself in thunder on the rocks below, to real- 
ize that a few miles further it runs a smooth and rapid, 
rippling river between fair, green banks. So it is impos- 
sible at the time of a tragedy of life and death to realize 
that the currents of the surviving lives will but a brief 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 249 

while hence run smooth and waveless again. Yet look, 
how from the whirlpool of the cataract, the stream strug- 
gles free at last from the circling eddies, and bursts over 
and through the rocks until it gains the channel where it 
flows on swiftly and smoothly a gurgling meadow-stream 
again. Dr. St. George’s life had been like the struggling 
stream in the circling eddies ; but he has weathered the 
storm, and ere many days he will clear the breakers and 
be safe from sunken rocks, and his life will flow on in an 
unruffled current in its utter peace. 

Before him lies a letter with no postmark, and written 
in an unknown hand. It had been left upon his table and 
the bearer had gone. He opened it and found there a few 
scrawls, which read as follows : 

Dr. St. George: 

Dear Sir — At the request of John Nailar, who is now dying, I have 
written to you. to come to his room immediately, which you will find at 

No. — , in the fourth story of the building, on street. He also 

requested me to say to you that he wished to make a dying confession to 
you. I would advise you to come immediately, as it may be concerning 
your lost child. Do not delay as he is passing away rapidly. I am the 
rector of Trinity Church, and his spiritual adviser. 

M. W. Warwin. 

Dr. St. George hastily folded the letter and placed it in 
his vest-pocket, and sprang into his buggy which was 
already at the door, and drove through the streets like a 
madman, while a thousand conflicting emotions were 
throbbing and surging through his brain. 


250 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


On a narrow, noisy, dirty street, up four flights of 
steps, in a gritty, gray, barren abode, where the rays of 
the glorious sun never streamed, or the songs of the birds 
were never heard, Dr. St. George found the dying man. 
He tapped gently upon the door, which was opened by 
the minister, who said, “I was very much afraid that you 
would be too late, doctor. He is nearly gone.” 

Dr. St. George went up to the bed, a thrill of horror 
ran through his frame as the dying man turned his blood- 
shot eyes up to him and held out his hand, which the 
doctor took in his own and said, “What can I do for you, my 
man?” He motioned for him to sit down, which he did 
after giving him some stimulant which seemed to revive 
him and bring his departing spirit back to the world again. 

“Now,” said Dr. St. George, “I am ready to hear 
what you have to tell me, and you must tell me quick, for 
you are not long for this world. Take this pen,” he con- 
tinued, turning to the minister, “ and be kind enough to 
take note of every word. Write it plain and distinctly.” 

“Raise my head a little higher,” gasped the dying 
man, “and give me a little more of that wine.” 

They did as he requested them, and took their seats 
near the bed ; he was very weak, and his breathing was 
loud and heavy. He began thus : 

“ My name is John Nailar, and I am in my right mind. 
In the presence of Rev. M. W. Warwin and Dr. St. 
George, I make a full confession of the crime committed 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


251 


against Dr. St. George eighteen years ago, by Fen Scull- 
cutter, of No. — street, and myself. Eighteen years ago 
I came to this city an escaped convict from the peniten- 
tiary of Frankfort. I came with the intention of obtain- 
ing employment but failed to get work, and just as I was 
leaving the city I was recognized by Fen Scullcutter, who 
knew me and was aware that I was an escaped convict. I 
begged him not to betray me and I would try and live a 
better life. He promised me he would not if I would 
befriend him. ‘ I will do any thing for you that lies in my 
power,’ I replied. 

“ ‘ It is a neat little job,’ said he, ‘but I don’t want 
you to do it for nothing; I will pay you well. Now, can 
I trust you? ’ ” 

“ ‘You can,’ said I, ‘for I was only too glad to find 
some means of making a few dollars, for I was nearly 
starved and bare of clothes.’ 

“ ‘Well,’ said he, drawing a long breath and looking 
as if he was suffocating, ‘ I want you to steal Dr. St. 
George’s child and place it in my hands, and the moment 
you do it I will give you one thousand dollars.' 

“ ‘ What in the name of all that is good and peaceable 
are you going to do with a baby ? ” said I, laughing ; ‘are 
you going to start a nursery, and run it on your own 
hook? ’ 

‘“Ask no questions,’ he answered, ‘but do as I bid 
you, if you want the money ! ' 


I 


252 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

“‘I do want it!’ said I, ‘and I know that I am a 
rascal, but blame me if I can see foul play used against an 
innocent child ! If you mean to put it out of the way, 
you will have to get some one else to do your dirty work, 
but if you are not going to harm the little thing, I am your 
man ! ’ 

‘“The infant shall not be harmed; not a hair upon its 
head shall be hurt!’ he replied. ‘You see,” said he, 

‘ Dr. St. George’s child stands between me and a half mil- 
lion dollars. There was an old fool of an aunt who made 
her will and gave her entire fortune to this child. And 
should this child die, then my child, who is a cousin to the 
former, would inherit the property. ’ 

“ 6 What do you intend doing with the baby ? ’ said I. 

“ ‘I shall take it to some orphan asylum, out of this 
State, where it will be taken care of, ’ he replied. 

“ ‘I hate to do it,’ said I, ‘but I must have money! * 

“ ‘ Don’t act the fool ! ’ said he, ‘and you will get as 
much money as you want ; and I promise you the child 
shall not be hurt.’ 

“ ‘ I will do it ! ’ I replied, ‘ but how am I to get it ? ’ 

‘“I will put you in a way to get it,’ said he, pulling 
out a Courier-Journal , and he read the advertisement. 

“ ‘ Wanted — A good, competent woman, to accompany a family to 
the springs, as nurse. Must come well recommended. Apply at the 
office of Eugene St. George.’ ” 

“ ‘ Now,’ said he, ‘this is your time. Go and dress 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


253 


yourself as a woman and apply for the situation. I will 

write you a recommendation and sign some fictitious 

name, of some woman in Cincinnati. You understand ; 

and if you are successful in obtaining the situation jump 

from the train at night, while the mother is asleep. I will 

find out what time she will leave, and the day before I will 

leave for Cincinnati, and will remain for several weeks on 

.* 

business — you understand — until the fuss blows over. No 
one will suspect me, of course, but I had rather not be 
here. The day before you leave you must write me where 
to meet you, and I will take you some men’s clothes and 
the money.’ 

“ I did just as he told me to do, and I obtained the situ- 
ation and set out with Mrs. St. George to the White Sul- 
phur Springs, and just at the hour of two I leaped from 
the train with the infant in my arms. I did it so quick I 
was not discovered, and at daybreak I reached the spot 
where I had written for him to meet me, but I failed to 
send the letter and consequently he was not there. I 
remained until nine o’clock, when the little thing that I 
had taken from its mother’s breast began crying for food. 
I laid it down upon a pile of straw, and went to a house 
not far off, in search of something for it to eat, and when I 
returned the baby was gone. I heard a noise in the air 
and looked up in time to see a large eagle bearing it above 
the trees in his claws. I closed my eyes and fell upon my 
knees and asked God to forgive me for the wrong I had 


254 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


done the poor mother of that innocent babe, and I wept 
tears of sorrow and repentance, a thing I had not done 
since I was a babe upon my mother’s knee ; for I had learned 
to love the little thing, it nestled its little head so lovingly 
and trustingly upon my breast, and smiled so sweetly up 
into my face. My conscience lashed me, and I would have 
given the thousand dollars, freely, to have laid it in its 
mother’s arms. I heard of her death after that, and of its 
father’s grief, and I could not remain where I had caused 
so much sorrow and anguish. I received the money from 
Scullcutter, and left the city ; but it did not do me any 
good, for I got into a scrape and it took every cent to get 
me out of it, and again I was out of money and out of 
work; but the devil who was always planning some way 
for me to make my living dishonorably, put a plan into 
my head. My dead sister’s child, a little girl of seven 
years old, died while she was with me. I wrote for you 
to come, that your child was in my charge and was dying, 
and had been left in my charge by an unknown man who 
said he had taken it for revenge. Then I took the chain 
and locket that I had taken from your child’s neck on the 
eve of your wife’s departure for the springs, and placed it 
around the dying child’s neck, for I knew you would not 
dispute that, for your wife’s miniature was in it. You 
came and paid me liberally for my trouble, and carried the 
child home, buried it by the side of your wife. Your 
bady died by the eagle’s claws.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 255 

“O, God ! ” cried Dr. St. George in a voice of despair, 
as he clasped his hand to his forehead and rushed from the 
room, leaving the dying man, who was stretching out his 
white, withered hands, imploring forgiveness; but he 
neither heard nor heeded him, but rushed out in the open 
air, pale and ghost-like, leaving him to die without hearing 
that blessed word, “ forgiveness.” 

It is needless to add what followed. Dr. St. George 
knew his prayers were answered — that the avenging angel 
had come at last. Before the sun had hid itself behind 
the church-spires, Fen Scullcutter knew his doom, and the 
dying man had gone to receive his verdict from the great 
Judge of the universe. That same evening Fen Scullcut- 
ter was arrested for the abduction of Dr. St. George’s 
child, and lodged in prison to await his trial, which would 
send him to the State prison, where he now lies, serving 
his term of twenty-five years. Veary Carlisle, the little 
boy who was spurned from his door with curses and in- 
sults, was the attorney for the plaintiff ; and never did a 
lawyer plead with more zeal and eloquence for the convic- 
tion of the man who had been the ruin and downfall of his 
father, sending him to a drunkard’s grave, and leaving his 
destitute and suffering mother to die with a broken heart. 

"I will avenge, saith the Lord.” 


CHAPTER XXL 


NOT DEAD, BUT LIVING A HAPPY SURPRISE ENGAGEMENT. 

In the bay window of the beautiful chamber that once 
called her mistress, sits Birdie Sinclare all alone, with 
downcast eyes, and face grave and sorrowful. She is 
dressed in deep mourning now, which is very becoming to 
her fair complexion and sunny hair. Three weeks have 
passed since that lonely girl followed in the sad procession 
that bore the form of her beloved father to Cave Hill 
Cemetery, and stood by the open grave, and heard the 
solemn sound of the clods as they fell upon his coffin-lid. 
Three weeks have passed, yet she still hears the echo of 
that hollow sound, and hears the grinding sound of the 
carriage wheels as she looked her last upon the little 
mound that marks .her father’s lonely resting place ; and 
with a sickening dread she looks forward to the future that 
still lies before her. It seems to her that she can view, 
lying stretched out in the far distance, a lonely, cheerless 
road, over which she must travel, whether she will or not — 
a road bare, desolate, dusty, and companionless ; devoid of 
shade, or rest, or joy. “He that loses hope,” says Con- 
gree, “ may part with any thing.” To Birdie it seemed 
(256) 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 257 

as though hope and she had parted company forever. The 
past had been so dear, with all its vague beliefs and uncer- 
tain dreamings — all too sweet for realization — that the 
present appeared unbearable. The very air seemed dark, 
the sky leaden, the clouds sad and lowering. 

The young soldier endures the fatigues and privations 
of the march gallantly, and looks eagerly forward to the 
crash of the meeting armies, but not until the storm of 
shot sweeps the plains and the death-dealing fire blazes 
through the pall of smoke can he know how he will actu- 
ally bear himself in the hour of battle. Let no human 
creature, until his or her death, be called happy. Let no 
human creature, till his or her death, be accounted strong 

“Thank God, it is finished ! ” said she, as she put the 
last stroke of her pen upon a manuscript that lay on the 
table before her, and which she had bent over all night 
and written with untiring energy. At times she would be 
oppressed with vague, lonely feelings — perhaps, after all, 
her book would be unsuccessful — and a sense of utter des- 
olation would come over her, and for a time overpower 
her; and with a brain on fire and a heart half broken 
she would push from her her half-finished sentence and 
bury her face in her hands and break into low, but heavy 
weeping. 

“Papa, papa! ” was the common refrain of all her sor- 
rowful dirges — the sadder that no response ever comes to 
the lonely cry. 


2 5 8 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


Of our dead, if we would believe them happy, we must 
also believe that they have forgotten us, else how, when 
they think of our bleeding hearts, could they keep their 
bliss so perfect ? 

Mournful as Mariana in her moated grange, the poor 
child lamented, while sobs shook her slender frame. 

Then hope, the friend of the sorrowful, would come 
with its healing balm, and she would instinctively feel that 
no matter what obstacles might be thrown in her way she 
would overcome them — no obstruction should hinder her 
in the course she had undertaken to pursue. Nay, diffi- 
culties would but increase her steadfastness and make her 
more energetic, and more persevering ; and as if aroused 
from some ugly dream she would raise her head with a 
startled look upon her face, and take up her pen again and 
write eagerly, and without premeditation. 

She tells herself that she will be a brave little Amazon, 
and will bear the brunts and bluffs of the world, and battle 
with the attacks of poverty, starvation, toil, and disap- 
pointments courageously, with her frail little hands ; that 
she is strong enough to face the whole world, and that she 
will not become disheartened any more. "I am now a 
citizen of the world,” she said, “and have no place I can 
call my home, but I care not for this world’s cold charity ; 
I will laugh in its face ! ” 

Grief and misery had already embittered and generated 
distrust in her young bosom ; she is tired, too ; all day she 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 259 

has gone through wearying, household labor, trying to get 
every thing in order for the sale that was to come off the 
next week, and which would rob her of her beautiful 
home which had ever been her special pride and admi- 
ration. 

We often pity the poor because they have not leisure 
to mourn their departed relatives, and necessity obliges 
them to labor through their severest afflictions; but is not 
active employment the best remedy for overwhelming sor- 
row — the surest antidote for despair? It may be a rough 
comforter; it may seem hard to be harassed with the 
cares of life when we have no relish for its enjoyment ; to 
be goaded to labor when the heart is ready to break, and 
the vexed spirit implores for rest only to weep in silence. 
But is not labor better than the rest we covet ? and are 
not those petty tormenting cares less hurtful than a con- 
tinual brooding over the great afflictions that oppress us ? 
Besides, we can not have cares, and anxieties, and toils, 
without hope, if it be but the hope of fulfilling our joyless 
task, accomplishing some needful project, or escaping some 
further annoyance. 

In most cases trouble, when it comes, is easier to bear 
than we anticipate. After being tormented for a long 
time with dread and apprehensions ; after the crisis is past 
and the blow has fallen, we resign ourselves to it with 
wonderful patience. This is particularly true in respect to 
pecuniary losses. The man who tossed for many a weary 


26 o 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


month on' an uneasy and sleepless couch, may lie down to 
pleasant dreams after the crash is over. There is no agony 
like that of suspense. 

Again, there is nothing gained by meeting trouble half 
way. Every person is certain that sooner or later certain 
things must happen to them, which they have cause to 
dread ; but it would be very unwise to allow these fore- 
shadowings of the future to envelop our daily walks with 
gloom. We know that within a limited number of years 
we must either have closed our eyes upon all that is fair 
and beautiful here, or else live on beyond the allotted span 
of life. Live for the present as far as possible ; trouble 
may lie in the future, but wait until it comes before you 
fret. What is life when stripped of all its disguises ? A 
thing to be desired it can not be. With Birdie it seemed 
almost at an end. An unsatisfactory thing, too, at its best 
— a mere glimpse into the world of “ might have been.” 

The windows leading from Birdie’s room into the green 
veranda were thrown open ; the dew is glittering still like 
a shower of diamonds on the white blossoms of the 
syringa that climbs round the window-frame ; the early 
sun glints into the room and twines his golden fingers lov- 
ingly mid the petals of the white flowers which Birdie had 
just gathered and laid upon the table, and which will soon 
be woven into wreaths and festoons, to be laid with gentle 
hands upon the grave of that beloved father who had pre- 
ceded her to the better land ; for sweet May had come 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


26l 


again with its songs of birds, and sparkling fountains, and 
to-day is decoration day. And as she sits there twining 
the tender flowers with her tiny fingers, a spiritual fire 
seems to blaze in her eyes, which wore so divine a look 
that it seemed as though the soul were so far stronger than 
the body that it was but tarrying for a day before it spread 
its eternal wings — a captive too strong for the frail bars of 
life to imprison. All around her seemed hallowed by the 
ineffable shadow and glory of that parental love that has 
no more to say to earth — a love that would last while 
memory lasted — a memory that would endure during life. 
Now and then a pearly drop would trickle down her 
cheeks and mingle with the dewdrops upon the petals of 
the flowers, as she wove them artistically into a wreath. 

She had finished her manuscript long before the 
clock struck five, but the thoughts of the coming morrow 
crowded the sleep from her weary brain, and she sought 
her beloved garden and plucked the dew-spangled flowers, 
just as Aurora’s rosy light was making dim the mild, mel- 
low ray of the moon and stars, that had kept their vigil 
so faithfully as she traced upon the white pages the mem- 
ory of happier days in letters of fire. 

After completing her work, she arose and went down 
to the dining-room where a fragrant steam curled from the 
silver spout of the tall coffee-pot ; the covered dishes look- 
ing temptingly suggestive ; and the crisp hot toast so beau- 
tifully brown ; but Birdie had no taste for any thing. She 

18 


2 62 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


stirs her coffee, and breaks up some pieces of toast in her 
plate but touches nothing herself, though she pours milk 
into the saucer and sets it down for the cat, and flings 
crumbs on the veranda for the birds. 

“Why don’t you eat something yourself, Miss Bir- 
die ?” said her maid, looking pityingly upon her mistress. 
“You can not live without eating,” she continued, “ and 
I do hate to see dem roses leave your cheeks ; you don’t 
know how it hurts my heart,” and the poor negro sighed 
as she took the food from the table untouched, and carried 
it to the kitchen to be devoured by the hungry servants. 

“ I am glad some one cares for me, # Sallie, if it is only 
an humble servant,” said Birdie, rising, “ I shall not feel 
quite so desolate now.” 

“Ah, Miss Birdie,” said Sallie, with a shake of her 
head, “ there is plenty who would be glad enough to care 
for you if you would only let them.” 

“You are better informed of the fact than I am,” said 
Birdie, smiling “pray, where did you get your informa- 
tion ? ” 

Sallie hesitated a while, thinking perhaps she was going 
too far, but Birdie’s eyes were fixed upon her with such a 
searching gaze she had to say something. 

“Joe told me,” she said; “but Miss Birdie, I would 
not have you to say any thing about it for Joe’s sake, be- 
cause his young master would-be displeased if he knew he 
was carrying news.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 263 

“You are talking problems,” said Birdie, “pray, 
express yourself. Who is Joe, and his young master? ” 

“Why, don’t you know, Miss Birdie,” said Sallie, 
“ Mr. Elmore, and Joe is his waiting boy, who goes wid 
me sometimes.” 

“Well, what about Mr. Elmore?” exclaimed Birdie,, 
questioningly. 

“ Why, Joe told me if it had not been for Miss Birdie 
Sinclare his young master would not leave so soon for the 
foreign countries, and said that you were going to marry 
that Mr. Scullcutter, and he could not bear to be so near 
you, and see you the wife of another, and so he leaves 
to-day, and he says the old judge’s heart is well nigh 
broken.” 

“ I wonder who told him I was going to marry Fen 
Scullcutter ? ” said Birdie, more to herself than to the ser- 
vant. 

“Why, Mr. Scullcutter told Mr. Elmore himself, and 
said that the doctor had given his full consent to the mar- 
riage, for Joe heard Mr. Elmore tell his father so one day 
when they were riding out together.” 

“ I know now, why Veary Elmore spoke to me as he 
did the other morning when he told me good-bye ; I did 
not understand it then,” said she, as she left the house for 
her usual morning walk before she left for the cemetery : 

‘ I hope the day will never come that you will be com- 
pelled to look back with regret on one single act of your 


264 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

life, and should the time ever come when you will stand in 
need of a friend, look to me as you would a brother.’ ” 

“ A brother,” said Birdie, her lips trembling, “when 
all these months I have loved him with all the strength of 
my heart,” and she blushed at the confession, when only 
the birds and the flowers were her confessors; and the 
only answer that came to her, was the dull echo of her own 
sad thoughts. On she walked, not knowing, or caring, 
where she went; heeding not the flight of time, or the 
loveliness of the morning, for it was a glorious day, and 
was worth a whole life-time of common life. The trees 
were all in leaf, the great swaying boughs seemed to thrill 
with life, the leaves were of the loveliest green, so fresh, 
so tender, and delicate in hue, as they clapped their tiny 
hands in honor of the glorious queen of the season, for 
the stern old monarch had yielded his scepter, and the 
snow, and ice were as a dream that had been told. The 
honey-bees were floating from flower to flower, their 
golden belts glittering and flashing in the glorious sunlight 
that the god of day had flung broadcast upon the loving 
earth. 

High and clear and exquisite rose the notes of the birds, 
one above the other, each vieing in beauteous harmony 
with the last until one’s very heart ached for love and ad- 
miration of this sweetness. All nature had arisen from 
its long slumbers, and beauty walked in bravest dress. 
There was the hawthorn in robes of white ; the laburnum 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 265 

dropping their golden tresses ; the lilac tossing its fragrant 
plumes ; and over the whole the knightly chestnuts were 
brooding like protecting angels. Under the trees the 
green moss grew thick and rich ; the yellow cowslip, the 
pale sweet primrose, and delicate bluebells made a carpet 
such as the hand of man could not weave. 

- As Birdie was just hiding herself from view by the 
heavy foliage as she tripped through this flowery meadow, 
a young man was seen riding gracefully up the gravel 
walk that led to her home. A strange, wild, but sweet 
expression rested upon his face as he placed his hand upon 
the door-knob and gave an impatient jerk at the bell. 

“ Is Miss Birdie at home? ” he asked excitedly. 

To which question the butler replied that Miss Birdie 
was at home, but was out taking a walk, he believed, but 
would send for her. 

To this the young man objected, saying that he would 
go in search of her himself if he would direct him, which 
the butler did, and he set out in the direction Birdie had 
gone, whistling — well, he did not know what, for the 
troubled waters of his soul were stirred, never to know 
their perfect peace until fate should again bring him face 
to face with the girl whom fate had given him a right to 
claim, and whom fate had taken away. His own little 
Birdie, the fair-haired baby whom he had risked his own 
life to save from the eagle’s bloody fangs, and whose baby 
head had rested upon his boy shoulder; and with untiring 


266 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


energy rocked it to sleep in his own arms, and by the bed- 
side of his dying mother knelt together and poured out 
their grief upon each other’s breast. 

On he went, thinking how she would receive him, 
what would she say, how would she act, when he told her 
who he was ? His face was flushed, and a glad light was 
in his eyes ; he never looked so handsome in his life. 

“ I have a better right to her than any man living,” he 
exclaimed, as he hurried along. <f I will claim that right, 
I will be her protector if she will let me. I will be to her 
as I once was — father, mother, brother, and sister. Noth- 
ing but her own sweet will shall separate her from me.” 

On he went unmindful of the glory around him, know- 
ing nothing, heeding nothing save the footprints of her 
he was tracing until he glided into a region wherein only 
fairies should have a right to dwell. 

Far as the eye could reach myriads of bluebells spread 
themselves, and as the wanton wind stooped to caress 
them they shook their tiny bells with coquettish grace and 
flung forth their perfume to him with a lavish will. 

“ Is it even possible to find her here in such an obscure 
place as this, where positively every thing seems to be 
playing hurly-burly, making a perfect hurrah’s nest, so 
one could not see farther than his nose? Perhaps after 
all she was not there, but has returned to the house by 
another direction and is now — .” 

The sentence was never finished, for suddenly across 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 2 67 

the flowers and ferns, there came to him a fresh, sweet 
voice that thrilled him to his very heart. 

“ It is she,” and there in the distance he could see her 
sitting with her golden, coquettish locks playing hide and 
seek with Euros round a sun-kissed corner of a hanging 
rock. She was leaning forward having taken her knees 
well into her embrace. Her hat was lying upon the grass 
at her feet. She was dressed in deep mourning, with a 
ruche of white crepe at her neck and sleeves. 

Clear and sweet her voice rose on the wind, and reached 
his ear and moved him as no other voice ever had or will 
ever again have power to move. 


We have met, we have loved, we have parted, 

To forget thee, my darling, I can never, 

For the love our childhood hath cherished 
The cold hand of death can not sever. 

The kind wind brought the tender, passionate song to 
him and repeated it in his ears as it hurried onward. How 
exactly the words suit her ! He says them over and over 
again to himself, almost losing the rest of the music which 
she is still breathing forth to the morning air, and which is 
caught up by the birds and echoed as they stop their own 
songs to listen. 

He is quite close to her now, so close that he can see 
a pearly drop trembling in her violet eyes — that tear had 
come from a fountain that had been stirred by Memory’s 


268 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


finger, touching the heart-strings which had been set to 
music by sorrow’s tuning-fork. 

On this morning she had been thinking of Veary El- 
more, of his departure to Europe, of the months and years 
that would roll between ere they met again, and perhaps, 
never. She knew now that he loved her, that his heart 
was wholly hers, and that Fen Scullcutter was the cause of 
his not telling her of his love ; and there arose a bitterness 
in her heart for the man who had caused all her sorrow. 
She thought, too, of Veary Carlisle, her little foster-brother 
whose bravery had made for him a death-bed beneath the 
dark, deep waters of the Ohio. 

“If he had lived, I now would have a friend and 
brother,” she said, mournfully. “ O, how I would love 
him! Dear, dear Veary, how I begrudge you your heav- 
enly home! ” 

“Do not begrudge to heaven that it does not claim,”’ 
said a gentle and subdued voice in her ear. She raised 
her head, and her large, sorrowful eyes fell upon Veary 
Elmore’s splendid form. She sprang to her feet, but be- 
fore she could speak he had her enfolded in his arms. She 
tried to release herself, but he held her with an iron grasp, 
as he exclaimed, “Thank God; found at last, found at 
last ! My lost Birdie has at last fluttered down upon my 
bosom ! ” 

Poor Birdie was frightened. She thought Veary El- 
more had gone mad, and expected every moment to be 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 269 

crushed to pieces. She disengaged herself, however, amid 
many blushes, and the pallor of her cheeks showed her 
repressed agitation. 

“What do you mean, Mr. Elmore?” said she, indig- 
nantly ; ‘ ‘how dare you take me in your arms, just as if I 
were a little child?” And she turned to fly from him. 
He had quite regained his self-control by this time, and 
having conquered his emotion, spoke dispassionately: 
“Darling, don’t leave me; speak to me; forgive me; I 
should have told you in a different manner from what I 
did, but I could not help it ; I was so happy. When you 
know all you will not be angry with me.” 

“ What have you to tell me ? ” said she, gently, for she 
saw how deeply he was hurt, and her blue eyes looked up 
mournfully into his — so mild, so sweet, so impressive, and 
once so proud and tender — with such deep sadness in their 
rich depths. 

“Sit down, and I will tell you,” said he; “it is a long 
story, and will take me some time to get to the sequel.” 

As one who, seeing her destiny wrapping itself about 
her, fold by fold, sits down stunned and powerless, so 
Birdie sat just where he bade her sit. 

There was silence for a moment ; he did not know how, 
nor where to begin, fearing that she would doubt his 
being her long-lost brother. He wanted to convince her, 
however, in the beginning. 

“Do you know this miniature?” he asked, holding up 


270 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


before her bewildered gaze a miniature which he had taken 
from his breast-pocket. 

“ Yes, ” Birdie replied, a flood of crimson spreading 
over her face, and then fading away, leaving it an ashy 
whiteness; “ it is Veary Carlisle, my little adopted broth- 
er, who was drowned in the Ohio River, when he was a 
little boy, trying to save some little children from drown- 
ing,” and she pressed the miniature to her lips and kissed 
it again. “ It is so strange,” she continued; “I was 
thinking of him this evening. Did you know him, Mr. 
Elmore? have you ever seen him? where did you get 
this picture? O, it is so much like him, dear, dear Veary, 
how I long for your love and protection ! It seems that 
I can see him now, just as he looked on that cold, bitter 
morning when he took me in his arms and kissed* me 
good-bye. It was the last time I ever saw him, but his 
face has been with me all these years, and though it pre- 
ceded me to the spirit land, I shall surely know it from all 
the shining throng.” 

“Have you believed all these years. that your brother 
Veary was dead?” asked Veary Elmore, with a tremor in 
his voice, while his lips trembled like an aspen-leaf. 

“Yes,” said Birdie ; “why do you ask that question?” 

“Because your brother is not dead; he still lives, and 
loves you with all a brother’s love.” 

“You say he still lives ! do you know where he is, Mr. 
Elmore? tell me, quick, or I shall go mad.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


271 


‘ ‘ He is sitting by your side, my dear girl. I am Veary 
Carlisle, your long-lost brother.” 

“ O, Veary! my brother! not dead, but living,” and 
the next moment she lay prostrate in her brother’s arms. 
She was trembling like a frightened child ; her white lips 
sprung apart, the blue eyes had a strange, wild look as 
she raised her face, so white and beautiful, to his and 
laughed a strange, unnatural laugh, and said, “ I thought 
you had gone mad, but it is I. Can it be possible that I 
have brooded over my sorrows until they have driven me 
mad ? There are strange turns in life, I know — fortune 
plays us hard tricks — rate has unexpected things in store, 
but this can not be, that you, Veary Elmore, are that broth- 
er I worshiped so fondly,” and she sprang out of his arms, 
and stood gazing for a moment in his face. 

“O, Birdie, darling, it is true; it is neither a dream 
nor a fancy, but truth. I am that Veary who climbed the 
rugged mountain to save you from the eagle’s bloody 
claws. It was in my arms my dying mother laid you, 
and with the tears streaming down her sunken cheeks, 
said, ‘ To your tender care I intrust my adopted child, 
and your adopted sister. Take her, and promise that you 
will love her and protect her so long as you both live. 
She will help to strengthen your energies, and you will 
have something to live for and work for. And God grant 
that she may prove a blessing to you, and that your future 
lives may be full of sunshine and happiness.’” 


272 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

Birdie did not dispute it now, though young at the 
time she remembered that dying mother’s face, and her 
words have often repeated themselves again and again 
when Veary’s image would rise up before her. 

She was now convinced, and with a wild cry of joy she 
stretched out her arms, and exclaimed, “ It is Veary ! it 
is Veary! O, my brother, my friend and preserver! why 
have you stayed away from me all these years ? I who 
needed you so much.” 

And the poor girl buried her face in her hands and 
wept tears of joy, such as she never shed before. 

“ Lay your head upon my breast, little darling,” said 
he, “for it is your rightful place;” and with a brother’s 
tender emotion he drew her curly head upon his white 
bosom, where it had so often rested in years gone by, as 
her baby arms clung lovingly around his neck. 

“Dear Veary,” she murmured, winding her arms more 
closely around his neck, “ I feel that I don’t deserve all 
this happiness, but God is good, and he has sent you to 
me just at the time I most need you;” and looking up 
with the sweet content of a little child, she continued, 
“and you will be my brother still, and will let me call 
you brother.” 

“My darling,” he exclaimed, passionately, and 
pressing her more closely to his heart, and gazing down 
in her pure sweet face. “ As long as there is one spark 
of true manhood in my heart, or as long as life’s crimson 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


273 


current throbs through my veins, I will shield and protect 
you ; will watch over you with more than a brother’s ten- 
der care ; nothing shall separate us again, nothing but 
death or your own free will; and if need be, go forth and 
fight for you as did the knights of old for those they loved, 
until just and mighty death, whom none can advise or 
stay, enfolds me in his icy arms. I claim that right. And 
that angel mother in heaven, could she speak would tes- 
tify to what I now say, and who this moment must surely 
be looking down with tender solicitude upon two hearts 
that have lived and met to bless her dear memory.” 

He leaned his head a little and looked into her eyes — 
the beautiful star-like eyes that smiled back so calmly into 
his own, so mild and yet so full of fire — eyes that had 
power to charm him as no other had ever been able to do. 

He stooped down and pressed his lips to her own. 
For one brief moment he held her in his arms. This em- 
brace was but the sealing of a fresh, new love between 
them — a linking more firmly of the old, sweet tie that love 
endured so long. 

“ It will seem so funny to call you brother,” said she, 
smiling up into his face ; “so strange to me at first, but I 
shall be so happy to hear you call me sister ; call me so 
now, so I can hear how it sounds.” 

“ My darling,” said he, and his voice trembled, “ can 
you not give me a warmer place in your heart than that of 
a sister ? I can not be satisfied, I can not be contented 


274 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


with a sister’s love. The pure, trusting love of a wife is 
the only love that will reconcile me. I love you, Birdie, 
and from the first moment I met you, I have lived with 
your image in my heart. Every beat of my pulse, every 
thought of my mind, is for you. I have learned to love 
you with all the strength of my soul, and for your dear 
sake I would lay down my life.” 

“ But you are my brother, Veary.” 

‘‘In name only, my darling,” said he, “for you have 
not one drop of my blood in your veins. Remember, you 
are my sister by adoption only.” 

“Well, who am I, Veary? and what am I? For all 
these years I have been a mystery to myself. I want to 
know so much who my parents were. If they are living, 
perhaps I may find them ; and if they are dead, I will 
want to know them in heaven, and I won’t know who to 
ask for,” she said, smiling. 

“ My darling,” said he, “I am afraid that is a mystery 
that will never be solved. But it matters not with me 
who you are, nor what you are ; it is enough for me to 
love you, and to know that I am loved in return. There 
is one thing I am confident of, you have pure and noble 
blood running through your veins, for blood will show 
always. But, darling, we will discuss that some other 
time, to-morrow, perhaps. Now tell me if you will be my 
wife. Do not keep me in suspense, for every moment is 
an hour of cruel torture to me.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


275 


She looked at him for a moment, and then with perfect 
trust and confidence she slipped her little white hand into 
his, and said : 

“ Dear, dear Veary ! so noble ! so brave ! and so true ! 
I am yours ; take me and I will try to be worthy of your 
love. You have a better right to me than any one living, 
and I shall endeavor to spend the remainder of my poor 
life in the promotion of your happiness. I give you my 
hand — my heart you have already — for you are my first 
and only love.” 

With tender emotion he drew her to him, and there in 
nature’s gallery of art — there in that sweet, green, silent 
kingdom, where the voice of God is heard in the ripple of 
the water, the rustle of the leaves, the song of the birds, 
the music of the wind — he pressed the seal of their en- 
gagement upon her lips, with a kiss as pure and holy as 
heaven itself. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


FOUND AT LAST IN THE CITY OF THE DEAD ; OR THE BABY IN 
THE EAGLE’S NEST. 

The baby morn has thrown aside its dew-spangled robe 
and has grown to perfect strength, and is making rapid 
strides toward rest and evening. A tender stillness reigns 
over every thing ; bright flashes from Titian’s fiery crown 
come and go ere one catch them — dart through the open 
windows of the carriage, and tremble with delight upon 
the betrothal ring which glitters upon Birdie’s finger, and 
falls in shining showers around the happy couple whose 
hearts are already overflowing with its bright effulgence. 
The beautiful bays, which carry with so much pride this 
happy couple, are full of life and spirit, and the sound of 
their well-shod hoofs echo through the cliffs and o’er the 
dales, as they play upon the smooth, hard turnpike which 
leads to the cemetery of Cave Hill, where they are bear- 
ing their young mistress, for the purpose of bestowing her 
floral offerings upon the grave of her beloved father. 

They were late, too, for time with its rapid wheel does 
not pause in its flight to listen to the vows of two loving 
hearts. Though in their happiness they had forgotten the 
whirl of this great revolving wheel until the clock in the 
(276) 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 277 

steeple rang out twelve long strokes, which reminded 
Birdie of her duty to the dead. 

‘ ‘ My carriage is already waiting, ” said she, ‘ ‘ and if we 
hurry we shall get there in time.” 

Long before they reached the cemetery the long lines 
of carriages could be seen, and the perfume of the dying 
flowers were wafted to them as they passed through the 
gate and moved slowly up the gravel walks that wound de- 
viously through the beautiful city of the dead. Present- 
ly the carriage stopped near Dr. Sinclare’s lot, and Veary 
assisted Birdie from the carriage and opened the little iron 
gate which inclosed the lot, and Birdie was about to enter, 
when her eyes fell upon a beautiful wreath of flowers lying 
upon her father’s grave. She paused for a moment, and 
looked up into Veary’s face, then she entered and sank 
upon her knees by the grave and burst into tears. 

“They thought I had forgotten him,” she said, trying 
to stifle her emotion; “lam sorry I was so late. It was 
some true friend I know, who has laid his offering upon 
his dear resting place ! I wonder who it was ! ” and she 
stooped down and pressed the flowers to her lips. “Look 
Veary, how beautiful,” she continued, kissing them again 
and again, “and they are so much prettier than mine.” 

Birdie had no idea that Veary’s hands were the ones 
that had placed the flowers there, for he had been with 
her all the morning, and she looked astonished when the 
truth was revealed to her. 


9 


2 yS A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

After they had finished their sacred duty to the dead, 
they took their seats upon the grass beneath a spreading 
tree, and Veary explained to Birdie why it was that he 
had placed his floral offering there so early that morning. 

“I knew you would be here,” he began, “and I did 
not want to meet you ; and besides I expected to leave on 
the eleven o’clock train for Europe, and I had no idea of 
ever seeing you again in this life, my little darling; for I 
thought you were going to marry that Scullcutter, and I 
had much rather have seen you laid away in all your 
maiden purity than to have seen you the wife of that man. 
I thought once that I would go to you and give you his 
history, then I persuaded myself to believe that we were 
all in the hands of fate ; that she bore us around upon her 
gilded wings, and whenever we reached our destination 
she would drop us, whether on dry land or in a duck pond.” 

“ Who told you that I was going to marry him?” said 
Birdie, thinking all the while of what the servant had told 
her that morning. 

“ Why he told me himself,” replied Veary, “besides 
he gave me to understand that Dr. Sinclare had given his 
full consent to your marriage, and that is why I never 
asked you to be my wife ; but after I found out that you 
were my own little Birdie, I felt that I had a right to pro- 
tect you, and if possible break up that miserable match, 
for he was not worthy of you ; but I found my darling as 
free as a wild bird in the forest.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 279 

“But, Veary, you never did tell me how you came to 
find me out,” exclaimed Birdie, “ it seems such a mystery 
to me, and that photograph; where did you get it? for it 
was the very same that I had in my locket.” 

“ Well, tell me first,” said he, “how you came by the 
locket, for it has been in my possession ever since the day 
I heard that you were dead. I had given it to the jewelry 
man to fix, and that same morning I stopped in and got it 
to take to you, and I have worn it near my heart ever 
since because it was yours, and I have so often wished it 
was your own photograph instead of mine ; that I could 
have looked in your dear eyes instead of gazing at my 
own horrid shadow. But now I feel thankful that it was 
my photograph instead of yours, for it has been instru- 
mental in finding you ; perhaps, had it been your own, 
you would not have thought of having it painted. And I 
feel very grateful to that good father of mine, Judge 
Elmore, to whom I am in debt for my appellation, for 
thinking enough of me to send me around to Rue’s gallery 
to have my photograph taken before leaving for Europe.” 

‘ ‘ Ah, yes ! ” exclaimed Birdie, ‘ ‘ I know now, the mys- 
tery is unraveled; you recognized the painting at Rue’s.” 

“The mystery may be unraveled for you,” exclaimed 
Veary, laughing, “but not for me, for you have not told 
me how you came by that locket yet.” 

“Well, I can very easily do that,” she said. “You 
lost it and I found it.” 


280 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


“Where did you find it Birdie, darling? I knew that 
I had lost it somewhere.” 

“ I found it in a hen’s nest,” exclaimed Birdie, laugh- 
ing, “ and it seems very suspicious, Veary, dear; I had no 
idea that you were robbing my hen’s nest all the while, 
though I knew you were fond of eggs.” 

“Well, well, that is a good joke,” said he, smiling and 
pinching her cheeks, “I remember that old hen’s nest 
now,” he continued, “I was passing there one morning 
and heard a noise in the bushes and stooped down to see 
what it was, and I suppose that I dropped it then.” 

“Well, do tell me something about the painting,” ex- 
claimed Birdie, “it all seems so romantic, it is as good as 
a novel; and, by the way, it will just give a nice finishing 
touch to my new novel which I finished last night.” 

“Better wait until we get married before you com- 
plete it,” said Veary, smiling down into her face. 

“O, I will leave that much for the reader to imagine.” 

“Well,” said he, “ I will tell you about the painting. 
In the first place it is perfect ; the painting is exquisite. I 
would have known it amid ten thousand faces. At first I 
could not believe my own eyes, or at least I tried not to 
believe them, and tried to persuade myself to believe that 
it was only a delusion, when the photographer came up 
and said, 4 You seem to admire that painting, Mr. Elmore, 
and well you may, for it belongs to the prettiest girl in the 
county.’ 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 28 1 

“Who does it belong to,” said I, “and in my heart I 
blessed him for those words, for I knew there would be an 
opportunity for me to find out who the owner was.” 

“ ‘ It belongs to Miss Birdie Sinclare, ’ he replied, turn- 
ing it so the light could fall upon it, ‘ it is her adopted 
brother who was drowned in the Ohio when quite a boy.’ 

“ Did she tell you his name?” I asked; “ I think I 
know the boy.” 

“ ‘ His name is on the back,’ said he, turning it over ; 
and with an eagerness I had never experienced before, I 
read my own name — Veary Carlisle. This was enough; 
I knew then that the beautiful and gifted Miss Sinclare, 
whom I had worshiped, and who I was then running away 
from, never to see again, was my own little Birdie ; that 
the grave had given up its dead — for all the while I thought 
that you were dead — that you had been consumed by the 
flames.” 

‘ ‘ The flames ! ” exclaimed Birdie, ‘ ‘ what flames ? ” 

“Why, darling, is it possible that you never knew 
what a narrow escape you had with your life? Were you 
not there when the cottage was burned?” 

“ Why, no ! ” exclaimed Birdie, excitedly, “I ran 
away from that old woman one night, and went to the 
river to try and find you ; for she told me, that same day, 
that you were drowned in the Ohio, and that she was 
going to take me to New Orleans, and buy an organ, and 
make me play on the streets for money; and she had every 


282 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


thing packed up, and was going to take me away the next 
morning, and that is why I ran away.” 

“Well, well!” said Veary, shuddering, “you had a 
narrow escape, my darling; for on that same night the cot- 
tage Wets burned, and she was consumed in the flames, and 
the neighbors told me that you were burned up in the 
house, and — ” 

“Were you very sorry, Veary?” said Birdie, stop- 
ping him in the middle of his sentence. 

“Sorry!” he exclaimed, half vexed at her question. 
“ It came very near being the death of me ; and if it had 
not been for that man yonder, I now would have been in 
my grave. And by the way, if things had not turned 
out as they did, you now would have been his adopted 
daughter. ” 

“Who is that, Veary?” said she, “his face is so 
familiar to me; I have seen it either asleep or awake ! ” 

“It ought to be familiar to you,” he said, teasingly, 
“ when you used to go in his office so much to beg, when 
that old hag sent you out on that mission.” 

“Is it possible? ” said Birdie, turning white in the face, 
for every event in her past life seemed to come up before 
her. “What is his name, Veary? for I have forgotten 
it; I know I used to call him Mr. Doctor.” 

“Dr. St. George,” said Veary, “and he is one of the 
best men that ever lived, except my own father, Judge 
Elmore.” 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 283 

“Yes,” said Birdie, “he is a dear, good man, and I 
feel just like going up and giving him a good hug.” 

“You shall have that pleasure,” said Veary, laughing! 
“for he is coming now, and I am going to introduce you 
to him.” 

“Not as the little beggar girl, Veary, ” cried Birdie, 
“surely you will not tell him about that, Veary. Why, 
he would not even respect me, and — ” 

But before she could finish her sentence Dr. St. George 
was shaking hands with Veary. 

“The judge and I have been in search of you all the 
morning,” said the doctor, “and as we were unsuccessful 
in our labors, we came to the conclusion that you had 
been abducted. And I see,” he added, with a twinkle in 
his eye, “that our surmises were right.” 

“ Yes,” replied Veary, laughing, “and by a Bird of 
the fairest plumage. Was father very uneasy? ” he added. 

“Yes,” said the doctor, “he was very uneasy, as he 
expected you back to take your leave for Europe on the 
eleven o’clock train. And by the way, I am glad that 
you have postponed your trip, for I have* some very impor- 
tant business with you, Veary — something, too, that will 
surprise you very much. I can’t tell you, now, but come 
to my office as soon as you have an opportunity.” 

“And I have a surprise for you, too, doctor,” said 
Veary, turning to Birdie, who was blushing from the edge 
of her hair to the tip of her chin. “Let me present you 


284 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


to Miss Birdie Sinclare, who is soon to be Mrs. Veary El- 
more!” exclaimed Veary, bowing low, and laughing at 
poor Birdie’s discomfiture, as the blushes chased each other 
down her cheek and behind her ears. But she soon recov- 
ered herself and grasped Dr. St. George’s hand firmly, as 
he exclaimed, “ I am glad to have the honor of your ac- 
quaintance, Miss Sinclare ! I have had the pleasure of 
meeting you once, though it was under very painful cir- 
cumstances. I think you are the young lady who came 
so near being drowned some time ago,” he added. 

<i; Yes, sir,” said Birdie; “are you the physician who 
was on board the steamer that night? ” 

“ It was I who had the honor and pleasure of restoring 
you to life, Miss Sinclare,” Dr. St. George replied, and 
turning to Veary, he said, mischievously, “She came very 
near being the bride of Death, and your rival would have 
been a stern old monster. It is natural that she should 
feel very dear to you after having such a struggle with 
such a deadly foe, to win her. You will allow me to con- 
gratulate you, Miss Sinclare,” he added, turning to Birdie, 
“ I believe every girl has a hero in her imagination, but it 
is very few who have a real, genuine hero, such as you 
have — one that will scale the heavens or divide the waters 
of the mighty deep for your sake.” 

“ I think that he has doubly paid for me ! ” Birdie ex- 
claimed. “That was not the first time that he saved my 
life! ” Then she blushed; for she thought of the little 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


285 


beggar girl, who had sat upon his knee and called him Mr. 
Doctor, and had received alms more than once from his 
hands. She did not want him to know that she — Birdie 
Sinclare — had ever received alms at his hands ; that she 
had ever been a little street beggar, and now, she knew 
that the way was open for Veary to let the cat out of the 
wallet, and he would do it, too, in spite of all her entrea- 
ties ; the secret which she had kept so long would now be 
divulged. 

‘ ‘ Is it possible? ” said the doctor, with a look of sur- 
prise, and eyeing her from head to foot ; perhaps he was 
thinking of his own little one * we can’t tell ; he might 
have been thinking of his dead wife, for her image was 
stamped upon the face of the fair young girl before him. 

Toirning to Veary, he added, with a smile, “Mr. El- 
more, you certainly need promotion. Why have you kept 
your gallantry and bravery such a profound secret ? Most 
of the young men would have taken great pleasure in re- 
lating it to newspaper reporters.” 

“I had two reasons,” said Veary; “first, I did not 
think that any one would believe me, and, second, I was 
afraid some one would believe me and claim her ; and I 
was selfish enough to want to keep her, after risking my 
own life to save her. I was but a small boy then, and did 
not know how to make a sacrifice of my feelings. But 
before I relate my little narrative, which is founded on facts, 
let me take a leap of a few years back, and I will give you 


286 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


that little surprise I promised you a while ago,” and he 
looked at Birdie, who was blushing and shaking her head, 
for she knew what was coming. “ Do you remember the 
little girl who used to come to your office to beg, and took 
so much pleasure in calling you Mr. Doctor?” 

“ Yes,” said the doctor, and a shadow seemed to fall 
across his face, for he thought very strange of Veary 
speaking so lightly of his little dead sister, when even the 
memory of her would bring tears to his eyes. ‘ ‘ Poor 
child, she met a terrible fate, and I never have gotten over 
the blow it gave me when I heard of her cruel death. She 
was a dear, sweet, little girl ; Miss Sinclare, did he ever 
tell you about his little sister?” 

‘•Miss Sinclare is the dear, sweet, little girl herself,” 
exclaimed Veary, laughing, “that is the surprise I have 
for you. She stole a march on the old lady and left before 
the cottage caught on fire. Does she look like that little 
beggar girl in days of yore ?” 

“ Is it possible?” exclaimed Dr. St. George, going up 
and grasping her hand. “ Can it be possible that you, 
Miss Sinclare, are the little girl who used to come to my 
office so long ago, and who came so near being my adopted 
daughter? That you escaped the fangs of those horrid 
flames, and all these years have lived right under our nose 
and we were none the wiser ? I agree with that illustrious 
author when he said that ‘truth was stranger than fiction.’ 
But how in the world came you to find her out?” he ex. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 2 87 

claimed, turning to Veary. “ It all seems like a dream to 
me, and I expect that I shall wake up directly and find 
that I have been indulging in a ramble in dreamland’s fairy 
land.” 

Veary gave him a minute description of all Birdie’s ad- 
ventures since the night she escaped from the cottage. 

He listened attentively. Now and then his thoughts 
would wander back to his own little blue-eyed baby, and he 
prayed that fate had been as kind to her as it had been to 
Birdie; that she had been rescued from the eagle’s claws, as 
Birdie had been snatched from the burning flames. And 
that kind Providence might yet place her in his arms. 

“ God moves in a mysterious way, 

His wonders to perform.” 

After Veary had concluded, the doctor turned and said 
to Birdie, “ Miss Sinclare, may I ask what your 
name was, before you were adopted by Mrs. Carlisle ? do 
you remember your parents?” 

“ I never knew my parents,” she replied ; “my whole 
life has been a mystery and I would be willing to give a 
fortune, if I had it, to know who I am, and what I am ; 
but if I never know who my parents were, I am confident 
that good blood courses through my veins ; but I feel that 
I shall know some day; that this blessed boon will not for- 
ever be withheld from me.” 

“That is very strange,” said the doctor, “I suppose 


288 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


Mrs. Carlisle adopted you from the orphan asylum, and 
it seems strange, too, that your name was not on the 
records; for they are very particular about such things.” 

“She was never in an orphan asylum,” exclaimed 
Veary, smiling at Dr. St. George’s puzzled look, “and if 
you will permit me I will give you her history as far back 
as I am familiar with it. First, I will give you a short 
sketch of my own life. 

“ My father lived in the mountains of Virginia, and not 
a great distance from the Kentucky line. He was a law- 
yer by profession, and for fifteen years practiced law in the 
city of Richmond, where his health failed him, and he was 
compelled to seek the mountain air for his dilapidated and 
broken constitution. I was quite a small boy when he 
moved to West Virgiaia, but I shall never forget my first 
experience among the hills. I felt all the while that I was 
smothering, not for the want of air, but for the want of 
space ; for our house was completely surrounded by hills, 
and many a time I have thrown rocks down the chimney, 
and before I had been there two days I could tell my 
mother that I could climb to the very peak of the highest 
mountain. My father’s health did not improve, however, 
and the doctors advised him to travel ; so he took it in his 
head to go to Europe, and my mother, poor woman, was 
not aware of his intentions until a few hours before he 
left, and when she tried to persuade him not to go, his answer 
was that the doctor had advised him to go, and that noth- 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 289 

ing but salt water would save his life. After my father 
left I became lonely and restless, and would often say to 
my mother, ‘ Mother, I am so lonely, I wish that I had 
some one to play with me, * and I could see the tears 
come into her dear eyes. I suppose it was sympathy for 
her lonely boy. I soon found that it gave her pain, and I 
kept my troubles to myself. One morning I went out to 
play, and hearing a noise overhead, I looked up, and right 
over my head was a large eagle, which was flying toward 
the mountain. It had something in its claws; a pig, I 
thought at first, presently I could perceive that whatever 
it was it had on clothes, and all at once it struck me that 
it was a baby, and with this happy thought I set out to 
capture it if possible. ‘A baby, a baby,’ I repeated over 
and over again, as I ran along. ‘ Would it not be a treat, 
a baby in the house, and it would be mine, all mine; 
mother could play with it, of course, and make its clothes, 
but she could not claim it.’ 

“ These were the thoughts that ran through my brain as 
I followed the eagle’s course. Presently it took a turn 
up the mountain, and to my delight I saw it light upon 
the top of the mountain in a cluster of shrubby trees. I 
threw off my coat and vest as quick as lightning and com- 
menced to climb the steep, rugged side of the mountain. 
It was hard work, I tell you, but the thoughts of that baby 
strengthened me and I soon reached the top where the 
eagle had built her nest, and where my expectations were 


290 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


realized. And the sight which presented itself to my 
view will never be obliterated from my mind. 

“There in that bloody den, surrounded with bones and 
feathers, lay the sweetest little baby I ever saw ; and when 
I came up to where it was lying, it looked up in my face 
and smiled as happily as if it had been lying upon a bed of 
down in a fairy’s cradle. With a delight my boy heart 
had never experienced before, I sprang to it and caught it 
in my arms. There was not a scratch upon it; at first the 
eagle made fight at me, but I broke its wing with a stick, 
and it screamed and flew away. So I took my baby and 
tied it around my waist with my suspenders, and descend- 
ed safely, and — ” 

“ Did the baby live?” exclaimed Dr. St. George excit- 
edly, who had been listening to this startling revelation in 
speechless amazement and anxiety, and keeping his gaze 
fixed first upon one and then the other, with the fixedness and 
intensity of a living statue. His face wore a deathly 
whiteness, and his lips were as colorless as marble. Both 
Veary and Birdie did not fail to perceive it, but did aot 
understand the cause. He did not wait, however, until 
Veary was through, but exclaimed, “ Did the baby live?” 

“Yes,” replied Veary, “the baby lived, and is no 
other than Miss Birdie Sinclare, who is now sitting at 
your side.” 

This was enough. Dr. St. George knew that she was 
his child. That she was his own little baby whom he had 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


2 9 I 


mourned as dead, and who he had believed was lying in 
the little green grave by the side of his wife. 

* ‘ Thank God ! my child is found at last, ” were the words 
that were echoed over the cemetery of Cave Hill. 

“You are my child! my own little baby which was 
stolen from me eighteen years ago,” he exclaimed. “A 
man jumped from the train with you in his arms at night, 
while your mother was on her way to the springs, and I 
have never seen you from that evening. I kissed you 
good bye in your mother’s arms, and it was the last time 
I ever saw her alive ; the shock was so severe it killed 
her, and she lies yonder beneath that little mound. Per- 
haps you think I am talking at random, but I am not ; 
here is the dying confession of the man who stole you, and 
only this morning I left his dying bed. Take and read 
for yourself, Veary, and then you will be convinced of 
what I tell you.” 

Veary took the paper and read aloud, while Birdie, pale 
and trembling, listened to every word. 

Dr. St. George was as motionless as a statue. It was 
impossible to tell which of the three was the whitest, but 
when Fen Scullcutter’s name was mentioned Birdie would 
have fallen had her father not caught her in his arms ; but 
the two men were firm and only exchanged looks, and 
that look spoke volumes. 

“Just to think,” said Veary, turning to Birdie, that 
he wanted to marry you.” 


292 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


But she only shuddered, and a sigh escaped her lips. 
A sigh, alas ! for depraved and poor, fallen humanity. 

After Veary had finished he handed the paper back to 
Dr. St. George, saying as he grasped the doctor’s hand, 
“ Let me congratulate you, my dear friend, upon the re- 
covery of your daughter,” and turning to Birdie, he said, 
“ Darling, your prayers have been granted. You now 
know who you are, and what you are, as you expressed 
it ; Dr. St. George is your father, and yonder beneath the 
roses lies your mother ; and let us thank God for giving 
you such parents. You spoke the truth when you said 
that good blood coursed through your veins.” 

The next moment Birdie was sobbing in her father’s 
arms. ‘‘Papa, papa,” was all the poor girl could say, 
while heavy sobs shook her frame. 

“O, my darling; my long lost baby ! ” he exclaimed, 
as he folded his arms around her and kissed her again and 
again, while her curly head nestled upon his bosom where 
a shower of tear-drops were falling. 

“ How it wrings my heart! ” he murmured, “ when I 
think of my little wandering babe ; my sunny-haired darling 
being shut out alone in the streets ; to be denied the love 
light of a happy home; to be denied a father’s tender care, 
while he lived in the lap of luxury, surrounded with all 
the blandishments of life. To think that your dear 
little hands should be held out to my own for alms ; and 
I could not take you to my heart. But O, God ! I thank 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 293 

thee, most gracious Father, for the preservation of my 
child, and for the restoration of her at last to my arms ! ” 
All the while Birdie lay sobbing in her father’s arms, 
while Veary only bowed his head in acquiescence. 

After Dr. St. George ceased to speak there was silence 
for some moments, and to these three persons they were 
moments of silent bliss, and the happiest of all their lives. 

Dr. St. George raised the head of his fair child from 
his bosom, and turning to Veary Elmore, he said, “ Veary, 
my brave and noble boy, to your tender care I intrust my 
child ; into your keeping I place her happiness ; for you 
are worthy of the treasure I yield to you ; you have a 
better right to her than any man living; but Veary, my 
son, you must not take her from me ; you will live with 
me always, since our past has been so wide apart our 
future must be together. I can not bear to be separated 
from my baby, for to me she is baby still.” 

“Your every wish shall be gratified,” said Veary, 
grasping his hand and pressing it between his own, and, 
laying his arm around Birdie, he said, “Come, darling, 
and see where your mother lies, for I know she is smiling 
down upon her baby, which once was lost, but now is 
found,” and the three walked away to where her mother 
was sleeping beneath the daisies and trailing ivy. And 
there, in the presence of solemn death, by the side of her 
“angel mother’s grave,” the Beautiful Bird Without a 
Name found her name and mate. 


20 


294 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


There was rejoicing in heaven on that sweet May day, 
for sure the angels would rejoice with that mother, and 
the bells of heaven would ring in honor of the re-union 
“on earth. 

No wonder the moon came out on that glorious eve, 
and hung, moored like a crescent skiff of silver, over the 
hallowed spot ; no wonder the stars twinkled and blazed 
upon their silver thrones like altar-candles around God’s 
holy sanctuary ; no wonder the birds burst forth in joyous 
strains of melody, filling earth and heaven with music that 
seemed not of earth; no wonder the drooping flowers 
raised their dying heads and smiled, and sent forth their 
sweet perfume, wave after wave, as vespers wept for joy 
and filled their waxen petals with tears of crystal dew — 
for a soul was rejoicing in heaven, and three hearts were 
made happy on earth. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


LINES TO LITTLE IDA PETERSON. 

Dear little Ida, so loving and true, 

With violet eyes, bespangled with dew ; 

No constellation, however bright, 

Can equal those dear orbs to-night. 

Thy silken hair wears a sunset bloom, 

And like threads of gold from a fairy’s loom, 
Thy baby arms so plump and round — 

Ah, where can such another pair be found ? 

Thy hand hath no match save its fellow, 

So dimpled, so tiny, and fair; 

No down upon the neck of the sparrow 
Is so soft as thy rosy fingers are. 

Thy gentle voice is soft and low, 

Like ^Lolian harps when the south winds blow ; 
And thy dear little feet as they pat along, 

Sound sweeter to my ear than nightingale’s song. 

Dear little Ida, I miss you to-night ; 

I’m alone in my chamber, and trying to write ; 
Not a sound is heard save my own deep sighs, 
And the drops that fall from my tearful eyes. 

Last night, when I laid me down to rest, 

I dreamed your head was on my breast ; 


(295) 


296 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

But, alas ! I awoke with a sense of despair, 

To find my darling not nestling there. 

Oft in my waking dreams I too 
Have seen those eyes of heavenly blue, 

For an instant they flit before my sight, 

Then leave my heart as blank as night. 

But now I’ll lay my pen aside, 

My tearful eyes I’ll dry, 

For surely we will meet again 
In that sweet bye-and-bye. 

Ah ! we shall meet, with kisses sweet, 

Little Ida dear and I, 

And won’t that be a happy day 
In that sweet bye-and-bye. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


ESSAY ON THE MEN AND WOMEN OF THE PRESENT DAY. 

# 

Kind and gentle reader, we thank you for the interest 
with which you have perused our narrative, and trust that 
your patience has not been exhausted, as my inclination 
leads me to attempt the task of presenting to you as far as 
I am capable a picture of the men and women of the pres- 
ent day, and trust, gentle reader, you who have always 
been so kind and true, will pardon all digressions made 
from the special subject we have under consideration. 

First, we will view woman, the noblest gift of God to 
man, through an unprejudiced telescope which will carry 
us back through the vista of years and note her boundless 
influence for good or for evil. It is with woman as it is 
with every thing else of God’s creatures. They are pro- 
miscuous, morally and physically. There are good and bad, 
good and better, bad and worse. They are not all terres- 
trial angels — neither is there one in this wide world that 
does not have her faults, and neither was there ever a crea- 
ture in existence without a fault, save one — the Savior 
and Preserver of our immortal souls. And I will add that 
sometimes the best of men and women are molded out of 

(297) 


298 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


faults. Perfection among mortals is a thing unknown, and 
if we would but stop and think over our own faults, when 
tempted to criticise those of others, we would often check 
words which only tend to irritate, and many times convert 
into an enemy one whose friendship we prize too highly 
to lose; and 

% 

“ In speaking of others’ faults 
Pray don’t forget your own ; 

Remember those with homes of glass 
Should seldom throw a stone. 

“ If we have nothing else to do 
Than talk of those that sin, 

’Tis better to commence at home, 

And from that point begin. 

“ Then let us all when we begin 
To slander friend or foe, 

Think of the harm one word may do 
To those we little know. 

“ Remember, curses, sometimes, like 
Our chickens, roost at home ; 

Don’t speak of others’ faults 

Until you have none of your own.” 

It is sometimes said of persons that they can not tell 
what they know, but observation teaches that there are 
far more persons who can and do tell more than they know, 
than there are of those who know more than they tell. 
Although it may be very inconvenient not to be able to 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 299 

tell what we do know, it is far more dangerous to tell more 
than we know. If every person would adopt the motto, 
“ I will tell nothing except what I know, or have good 
evidence to believe,” every community would doubtless 
be relieved of a great deal of gossip, and many a slander- 
ous report would die unborn; in fact the slanderer’s occu- 
pation would be gone. But, alas ! how often a careless 
word, a knowing look, a significant nod, or a shrug of the 
shoulders, or even a sly wink or sneering gesture throws 
a cloud of gloom and sorrow over some innocent soul, or 
casts a dark suspicion upon an innocent character, that re- 
quires months, years, and even a lifetime to dispel. And 
these results are not always the work of street gossip or 
common tattlers, but oftentimes persons who occupy re- 
spectable positions in life and are influential in society 
become instrumental in carrying on this most reprehen- 
sible and pernicious work. 

The evil practice of encouraging and circulating reports 
or tales without knowing any thing about their truthful- 
ness is too common and too serious a matter to pass lightly 
by ; it prevails to a greater or less extent in all classes of 
society, and even among professed Christians ; but I take 
the liberty right here to say that no person can be a good 
citizen or a good neighbor, much more a Christian, who 
will encourage or circulate a rumor or tale that is detri- 
mental to the interest or character of another, without 
knowing or having some reliable evidence of its truthful- 


300 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


ness. “A tree is known by the fruit it bears.” Our ac- 
tions are the fruits of our character ; therefore, every 
person’s character should be judged by his or her actions 
and not by what designing persons may say about them. 
Every person should be adjudged innocent until there is 
some evidence of guilt. The rights and character of others 
should always be held as sacred as those of ourselves. We 
should never assume a privilege that we are not willing to 
grant to others. It is far easier to tear down than to build 
up. Any man can take a hammer and break a statue in 
pieces, or with one stroke of the brush destroy a fine paint- 
ing, but it is not every man who can model the first or 
paint the latter. Let us then strive to look closely at our 
own lives and less at the lives of others. 

Let charity for our fellow-beings expand and deepen, 
and depend upon it, those little faults which mar our neigh- 
bor’s character will vanish like the wavelet on the shore, 
that is caught back by the one following, leaving a spotless 
surface, uninjured by the marks of man. 

We will now return to our subject, and I will add that 
there is a certain class of our fair sex whose examples and 
influence are a malediction upon that God-given name — 
woman, and is pernicious in the very sight of all true and 
honorable women. And she is the idle, gossiping lady 
who never has any business of her own, but wastes a whole 
lifetime in idle gossip, and watching over the personal 
affairs of others, and whenever she does try to present her 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


301 


nocturnal illuminations they are as irradiate and as mo- 
mentary as a flash of lightning in the dark. She is a 
nefarious, heterogeneous, unconglomerated mass of nihil- 
ity, and good for nothing but a stumbling block, and an 
agent for the devil, and is under the continual control of 
that schoolmaster. She makes a most excellent one too ; 
she never fails to give every one a call that comes under 
her jurisdiction. Her tongue is her pen, steeped in the 
dyes of defamation, and dipped in the murky waters of 
falsehood, with which she inscribes the names of her 
victims. 

She goes into the peaceful homes 
And blows her poisonous breath ; 

And writes upon the fairest one 
A stain as deep as death. 

Her tongue is never still ; her heart is never warm. She 
carries upon her lips the hissing sound of a Judas kiss, 
with duplicity for her hobby-horse, on which she rides 
without curb or reins, with a branding-iron in one hand 
and a dagger in the other, and smiles to see the crimson 
current stream from the point of her dagger, with which 
she has pierced the heart of her victim. 

She neglects her household duties, her husband and 
children (if any man is so unfortunate as to claim her), to 
attend to the personal affairs of other people. She is in 
possession of all the events that transpire, from the grocery 
to the pulpit, from the dark alley-way to the gubernatorial 


302 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


chair. Nothing escapes her observation. Doors, windows, 
gate-posts, corners of the streets, are all familiar to her, 
where she stands for hours watching and gossiping, picking 
to pieces her neighbor’s dress, bonnet, and character, while 
her children are loafing in the streets, black and dirty, and 
her careworn and wearied husband is toiling and struggling 
against contending billows and waves of misfortune to earn 
a support for his helpless family, and perhaps his strivings 
are more difficult because the wife he has so unfortunately 
chosen can never find time to offer him any assistance, or 
even give him a word of cheer. She has too much of 
other people’s business to occupy her time. Such women 
have done as much toward furnishing material for our 
work-houses, our State prisons, our asylums, as the dis- 
tilleries of intoxicating liquors. She has caused many a 
good and noble man to fill a drunkard’s grave. 

As this subject is one we do not like to dwell upon, we 
will leave her for a time and turn our thoughts into a more 
magnanimous and philanthropic channel, and dwell with 
unspeakable pleasure upon the priceless value of a true 
and good woman, whose physiognomy befits the reflection 
of heavenly purity in an earthly medium that crowns her 
loveliness as piety scatters around the sweetness and power 
of. her charms. 

“ How divine her mission here upon our natural sod ! ” 
how great the task assigned to her by the Omnipotent 
hand of Jehovah! but not to make laws, not to lead ar- 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 303 

mies, not to govern empires, but to inspire those princi- 
ples, to inculcate those doctrines, to animate those senti- 
ments which generations yet unknown and nations yet 
uncivilized will learn to bless. Soften firmness into mercy, 
allay the anguish of the mind by her tenderness, disarm pas- 
sion, visit the couch of the tortured sufferer, the prison of 
the deserted friend, the cross of the rejected Savior — 
these are the theories on which her great triumph has been 
achieved. 

Time can not mar the love of a pure woman, nor rust 
deface its brilliancy. Distance strengthens its influence, 
bolts and bars can not limit its progress. It follows the 
prisoner into his dark cell. She loves him yet ; though 
the world turns coldly from him. Still as disease lays its 
hand heavily upon the strong frame, and sorrow wrings 
the proud heart of man, she is at his side teaching him to 
bend to the storms of life, that he may not be broken 
by them, and answering his countless calls till the stars 
pale in the heavens, and no repining words escape her lips. 
Humbly stooping herself that she may remove from his 
path every stone of stumbling, and gently lead him on- 
ward and upward to a Divine Counsellor, with whose 
blessed ministrations the necessities of a more timid spirit 
and feeble physical organization have made her familiar. 

The couch made by the hands of the loved one, is soft 
to his weary limbs; the pillow carefully adjusted by the 
same hands brings sweet repose to his fevered brain; 


304 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


and her words of kind encouragement revive the droop- 
ing spirit, and drive sorrow from his careworn brow, and 
inclose it in wreaths of domestic bliss. 

If misfortune is his lot he will find a friendly welcome 
from a heart beating true to his own. The chosen partner 
of his life has a smile of approbation, when all others 
have refused, and a heart to feel his sorrows as if they 
were her own. 

It would almost seem that God compassionating wom- 
an’s great frailty, had planted this jewel in her breast, which 
like a tender flower expands its fragrance to all around 
till transplanted to bloom in the Paradise of God, where 
immortal flowers forever bloom, and crystal waters gush 
forth from exhaustless fountains. 

How sweetly the poet has said : 

“Blessings on the hand of woman, 

Angels guard its strength and grace. 

In the cottage, palace, hovel, 

O, no matter where the place. 

“ May no tempest clouds assail thee, 

And rainbow ever gently curl, 

For the hand that rocks the cradle 
Is the hand that rules the world. 

“ Infancy, thy tender fountain, 

Bowers may with beauty flow, 

Mothers first to guide the streamlet 
From the soul unresting grow. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


305 


“ Grow on for the good or evil, 

Sunshine streams o’er darkness hurl, 
For the hand that rocks the cradle 
Is the hand that rules the world. 

“ Woman, how divine your mission, 
Here upon our natural sod, 

Keep, O keep the young heart open 
Always to the breath of God. 

“ All true trophies of the ages, 

Are from mother’s love imperiled, 
For the hand that rocks the cradle 
Is the hand that rules the world.” 


And yet with all her charms, her purity of heart, her 
high aspiration for all that is good and pure, and noble is 
she fully appreciated by those who deem themselves her 
lord and master? Is she valued at her true worth, or is 
she placed in the dish of balance and weighed with the 
fallen and unrighteous? The latter I will answer, yes. 
She may be as good and pure as the breeze that kisses the 
flowers which bloom in Paradise, and that damnable fin- 
ger of suspicion is ever pointing toward her, especially if 
fate has so ordained that she should go out to work for 
her daily bread. This it is a sad truth, reader, and as I 
write I utter a prayer for the working woman of our fair 
land, and I know it will reach the throne of her hidden 
Friend and wonderful Counsellor, who alone will give her 
justice. He who has ever been as true to the barbarians 


306 a beautiful bird without a name. 

as to the civilized ; who has stood over the dusky woman 
of ancient times, and hovered round the accomplished 
mother of our civilization, when she lays the darling of her 
bosom beneath the dark green sod, and will ever stand 
over the last lingering spark of humanity, until the star of 
hope ceases to blaze and disappears from the heaven of 
anticipations. And when the hills and valleys of 
time are all past, when the weary and fervent disap- 
pointments and sorrows of life are over, and the weary 
weaver has finished her web of destiny at the loom of 
time, and it has ceased its motion, she will then find her 
reward in that beautiful homestead over whose blessed 
roofs no sorrow even of clouds, across whose threshold 
the voice of sorrow is never heard ; built upon eternal hills, 
and standing with spires and pinnacles of celestial beauty 
beneath the shadows of the palm trees of the city on high. 
In some countries woman is looked upon as being an in- 
ferior creature, and is treated with as much servility as 
their horses and cattle, and our own Southern sunny land 
is full, too, alas! of men who look upon her with no higher 
appreciation ; but it is only those whose selfish hearts have 
never asked themselves, Were the cross of woman laid on 
their cowardly shoulders would they be able to bear it ? 

The rib was not taken from Adam’s foot, that man 
might trample woman beneath him ; neither was it taken 
from his head that she might rule over him ; but was taken 
from his side that she might be his-equal. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


307 


Woman was given unto man as a helpmeet, but not as 
a helpmeet in his kitchen and his field alone, as a servant 
but as his equal, his companion. 

‘ * What is the meaning of equality as here used ? is it 
not intended to convey the idea that the soul of woman 
has an equal interest with man in all those great events 
which have marked the dealings of God with his intelli- 
gent creatures on our earth?” 

“Are we not to understand from this, that woman 
equally with man has a trust committed to her by the 
great Jehovah, for the fulfillment of which she will be held 
responsible ? ” 

“Was not Mary and Martha loved as well as Laza- 
rus ? and did not the soul of Anna kindle with as divine 
an inspiration as that of Simeon’s when she held in her 
arms the infant Savior?” 

‘ ‘ Although woman was tempted by Satan to violate 
the laws of God, and caused her husband to violate them, 
whereby he lost his seat in Paradise, and doomed his 
descendants to toil and suffering and death, yet if she was 
first in transgression she was first in the breach. She 
stood by the expiring Savior when boasting Peter, and 
his other disciples had forsaken their Lord and Mas- 
ter; she was last at the tomb, embalmed his sacred body, 
and was first to discover that He had bursted the bars of 
death.” 

Has the value of a good and true woman ever been enumer- 


3°8 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


ated? That question will remain unanswered until she 
hears it echoed from the throne of the Great Judge and 
Counsellor. Although woman’s labor has been consider- 
ed as a matter of little importance by the lords of crea- 
tion; and I have heard some of them make some ex- 
tremely soothing observations, something after this style, 
“O, how I would like to have as easy a time as a woman. 
Just to sit in the house all day and have nothing in the world 
to do.” Now I would like for all those who have such nar- 
row views of woman’s worth, to try Darby’s plan just a 
little while, and I think they will change their views upon 
the subject, and will acknowledge that her vocation is 
equally, if not more laborious than their own. 

“ When Darby saw the setting sun, 

He swung his scythe and home he run, 

Sat down, drank off his pint, and said, 

‘ My work is done, I’ll go to bed.’ ” 

‘ My work is done,’ retorted Joan, 

‘ My work is done,’ your constant tone ; 

‘ But helpless woman ne’er can say 
My work is done till judgment day.’ ” 

Here Darby hem’d and scratched his head 
To answer what his Joan had said; 

But all in vain her clank went on — 

‘ Yes, woman’s work is never done.’ 

At early morn e’er Phoebus rose 
Joan resumed her tale of woes, 

When Darby said, ‘ I’ll end the strife, 

You be the man and I the wife ; 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


309 


Take you the scythe, and now while I 
Will all your boasting cares supply.’ 

‘ Content,’ quoth Joan, ‘give me the stent,’ 
This Darby did and out she went. 

Darby rose and seized the broom 
And whirled the dirt around the room, 
Which having done, he scarce knew how, 
And out he went to milk the cow. 

The fretful cow whisked round her tail 
In Darby’s eye, and kicked the pail; 

Darby perplexed with grief and shame 
Swore he’d never try to milk again, 

When turning round in sad amaze 
He saw his cottage in a blaze. 

As he chanced to brush the room 
In careless haste he fired the broom. 

The fire at last subdued, he swore 
The broom and he would meet no more. 
Pressed by misfortunes, and perplexed, 
Darby prepared for breakfast next, 

But what to get he scarcely knew, 

The bread was spent and butter too, 

With hands bedaubed with paste and flour 
Poor Darby labored full an hour, 

But, helpless wight, he could not make 
The dough take form of loaf or cake, 

As every door wide open stood, 

In came the pig in search of food, 

And stumbling onward with her snout 
O’erset the churn, the cream ran out. 

As Darby turned the pig to beat, 

The slippery cream betrayed his feet, 


21 


3io 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


He caught the bread-tray in his fall 
And down came Darby, tray, and all. 

The children awakened by the clatter 
Started up and cried, ‘ What is the matter ? ’ 

Old Jowler barked, and Tabby mewed, 

And helpless Darby bawled aloud, 

‘ Return, my Joan, heretofore, 

I’ll play the housewife part no more ; 

I see by sad experience taught 
Compared with thine, my work is naught, 

Henceforth as business calls I’ll take 
Content the plow, the scythe, the rake, 

And never will transgress the line 

Our fates have marked, whilst thou art mine.” 

Now if every man would try Darby’s plan for once in 
his life, woman would be more appreciated, and less up- 
braided, and we would not hear so much about woman’s 
indolence and woman’s extravagance. Extravagance ! 
This is another one of her besetting sins ; for we can hard- 
ly pick up a newspaper without finding something about 
woman’s extravagance, with admonitions about the dread- 
ful sin committed, etc., and I for one have been unable to 
see that women are any more given to willful waste than 
men ; it is only in a different manner, and with this view 
of the case in my mind, I propose to give the other side 
of the question. Some man will lay out hundreds of dol- 
lars for his farming implements, that his business might 
glide on smoothly without any difficulty, or without one 
half the labor that is required of the muscles of man, that 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 3 1 I 

his land may be cultivated and his harvest reaped, as he 
leisurely rides along upon the seat of his machinery with 
an umbrella at his back and the smoke of ten cents curl- 
ing gracefully over his nose, when he would look as sour 
as a crab-apple if his wife would even hint about buying a 
sewing machine, or mention the death of the old stove 
that had been her companion for the last ten years. Be- 
side, who is it that takes all the old clothing that has been 
worn until it would seem impossible to make use of them 
any longer, and rip them up, and press them, and turn 
them inside out, and bottom side up, and make them into 
dresses and pants for Katie and Jimmie and Johnnie? 
And who is it that takes all the old paper collars and cast- 
off clothing that is of no service, and transform them into 
pie-pans, water-dippers, and nutmeg-graters ? And who 
is it that saves all the little scraps of meat, and the little 
grease that accumulates from day to day, and with a little 
acid of potash and sal soda it re-appears in gallons of nice 
soft soap? Was it the man who did this? No! His 
plan would be to throw it in the fire and make clean work 
of it. Now if the man was as careful with all matters, 
great and small, in his department, as the woman is in 
hers, there would be many dollars saved that are thrown 
away, and do no one any good. But he is so much 
occupied in watching the women folk he has no time to 
spare to look over the small matters in his own depart- 
ment. While looking so intently at the mote in the house- 


312 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


hold management, he stumbles over the beam of misman- 
agement in his own department. And if he does not 
prosper as fast as he thinks he ought to, it is all owing to 
the woman’s carelessness and extravagance ; and who, 
because it will not be resented, inflicts his spleen and bad 
temper upon those who love him best, simply because the 
security of love and family pride keeps him from getting 
his head broken. And if he is handsome, thinks himself 
a perfect Apollo, and is vain enough to imagine that every 
woman who looks or smiles upon him is in love with him. 
And with his head full of imaginary conquests, he goes 
home to his quiet, patient wife, and delights himself by 
snubbing her at every other word, in the most supercilious 
manner. 

And when — her heart full of the truest love for this un- 
worthy being — she humbles herself in act of devotion to 
him, really in every sense her “ lord and master,” he treats 
her, as her reward, in a contemptuous manner, as if she 
were too much beneath him to allow her a commonplace 
civility. The holiest and strongest love that ever entered 
the heart of woman can be stung to death by such a man, 
and 

“ The heart that loves the deepest, 

Can also deepest hate.” 

This sort of men generally have good wives, which die 
off early, and it always happens that the one who soon 
takes her place is a regular Tartar, and makes him hop, 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 3 1 3 

skip, and jump in a lively style, and before he is aware of 
it, he is as bald as an eagle. 

“ It is a shame that a man will speak more impolitely at 
times to his wife or sisters than he would dare to any other 
female, except a low and vicious one. It is thus that the 
holiest affection of a man’s nature proves to be a weaker 
protection to a woman in the family circle, than the re- 
straints of society, and that a woman is usually indebted 
for the kindness and politeness of life to those not belong- 
ing to her own household. 

“Kind words are the circulating medium between true 
gentlemen and true ladies at home, and no polish exhib- 
ited in society can atone for the harsh language and dis- 
respectful treatment too often indulged in between those 
bound together by God’s own ties of blood, and the still 
more sacred bonds of conjugal love. 

“The true ideal of a husband is one who considers his 
wife his equal ; treats her on all occasions with respect ; 
does not think it beneath him to confide to her the state 
of his finances ; loves to have and enjoy her society at 
home and abroad; and lets her see that he cares more 
about pleasing her than himself, and not want every thing 
in and about the house to suit himself and no one else. 
In fact, they are true gentlemen — generous, unexacting, 
courteous of speech, and kind of heart. In them you 
will find the protecting strength of manhood, which scorns 
to use its strength except" for protection — the proud hon- 


314 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


esty of man which infinitely prefers being lovingly and 
openly resisted to being twisted around one’s finger, as 
mean men are twisted, and mean women will always be 
found ready to do it, but which, I think, all honest men 
and brave women not merely dislike, but utterly despise. 

“ There has been a little moldy piece of sentiment fished 
up from the brain of some egotistical old bachelor, and 
that is, ‘ Always meet your husband with a smile,’ just 
as if it was not as much the duty of a man to confer smiles 
upon his wife as it is hers to confer smiles upon him, and 
much the easier, I should imagine, for it is not such an 
easy matter for a woman to scare up a smile every time 
her lord and master happens to step in, especially if she is 
trying to get dinner over a smoky stove with a half-dozen 
little “pinafores” clinging to her skirts; and if one of 
them happens to come in his way, it’s ‘ clear the track 
children ; don’t trouble me ; run to your mother, she will 
attend to you.’ At the same time, he will light his hav- 
ana, place himself in an easy chair, and elevate his heels 
above the level of his nose, and bury himself in a news- 
paper, and remain a fixture for the evening. Perhaps the 
wife will come in weary and worn, thinking she will have 
a sociable chat with her husband. I ^ ot a bit of it ! There 
he sits, buried in that odious newspaper, informing madam, 
by appearance if not by words, that he did not wish to be 
disturbed. So with a faint little sigh she turns away, and 
with unswerving, martyr-like devotion plies her needle and 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 3 1 5 

thread until that man gets ready to speak to her, and that 
wi 1 probably be when he wants a button sewed on." 

“From Monday morning till Saturday night, 

She is toiling and struggling with all her might. 

The scouring and washing to be done, 

Cows to milk, and cream to churn ; 

Beds to make, and furniture to dust ; 

Ashes to take up, and rooms to brush ; 

The cradle to rock, and socks to darn ; 

One baby in the cradle and another on her arm ; 

While Johnnie is crying, ‘ Mamma, want a piece of bread ! * 

And Jimmie crying, ‘ Mamma, want to go to bed ! ’ 

Dinner to get, and pies to bake, 

Though her eyes are red with a sick-headache ; 

Dishes to wash, and cream to churn, 

And supper to get before papa’s return ; 

And after supper is prepared and the table spread, 

And the lord and master the blessings have said, 

The faithful mother the tea will pour, 

For six or eight little ones, or more, 

And one by one they’ll drop to sleep, 

And the mother from the table must make her retreat ; 

And when she returns her coffee is cold, 

And her butter is even frozen still on her roll. 

After each little one his prayer has said, 

And tucked away snugly in his little trundle-bed, 

Poor mamma sinks wearily in her chair, 

She looks weary and worn, but her sewing is there, 

She’ll sit and sew till eleven or more, 

While her needle keeps time with her husband’s snore. 

Stitch, stitch, stitch, from gusset to seam, 

And her buttons, sometimes, sewed on in a dream. 


3 1 6 A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 

O, all you men who have carelessly said, 

‘ Woman’s labor is nothing,’ ’tis a shame on your head ; 
Just try it a while, and and you’ll find it no sham ; 
You’ll calmly admit that you’d rather be a man.” 

********* 


J 


Now, my dear reader, I am only speaking of those rren 
who are built up without hearts, or if they have a heirt 
it has never been reached only through their stomadh. 
Man is as promiscuous as woman. They are not all alike, 
thanks be to the Maker ; but I do say if they were all a 
little more self-sacrificing, and let their wives see that they 
were appreciated by their husbands ; let her see that fce 
cares more about pleasing her than himself ; I have ho 
doubt but there would be more happy men and wonjen 
in this world, and the court dockets would not be disfig- 
ured with applications for divorces. One single word of 
praise from the husband will do more toward raising a Sec- 
ond heaven in a wife’s heart than all the flattery and priise 
the whole world can bestow. And even if that husband 
should think that his wife is not worthy of his praises/and 
commendation, the sacrifice he makes of his feelings is not 
such a great boon after all. Self-sacrifice is more glorious 
than victory. The most glorious episode in the revolu- 
tionary war was not the surrender of Burgoyne or Lord 
Cornwallis. It was the march across the plains of Jersey, 
and the winter encampment at Valley Forge. It is the 
glory of Christ that points us to God, and who willingly 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


317 


laid aside robe and scepter and crown for love’s sake; 
who, though he was rich, became poor, that we through 
his poverty might be made rich. 

What is the glory of a good man ? Is it fame ? No ! 
Is it bravery? No! Is it money? No! Is it good din- 
ners? No! It is the chosen partner of his toils — the 
crowning joy of his life. 

What is the glory of woman? It has often been said 
by (we know who) that her chief glory is in fine dress, 
waving plumes, and artificial blossoms ; but 

Say not woman’s love is bought 
With vain and empty treasure; 

O, say not woman’s heart is caught 
By every idle* pleasure. 


Her chief glory is in the patience of a love that beareth 
all things, hopeth all things, that endureth all things ; 
and not in the apparel with which she is clothed. And I 
trust the day will yet come when good and true women 
will be valued at their intrinsic worth. Though I fear 
that time will never come, unless “every tub is made 1 o 
stand upon its own bottom ; ” and that the world will 
cease to condemn the whole race of God’s fair creatures 
because some of them have deviated from the paths of 
virtue and truth. But, my fair readers, you to whom I 
dedicate these few written pages, there is one thing need- 
ful, and that is that bond of sympathy which is so much 


3i8 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


required between our women of the present day. If we 
would be more charitable toward each other, and appreci- 
ate our own sex more than we do, and try to exalt our 
neighbor’s wife, instead of trying to humiliate her, men 
would be more charitable in their criticisms toward women. 
And with this view of the case in my mind I do not con- 
sider it entirely man’s fault if we are not more highly ap- 
preciated by them. If we do not honor, love, and appreciate 
our own sex, we can not expect it of the sterner sex. 

Therefore, let us write our name, by kindness, love, 
and mercy, upon the heart of each and every one, though 
lowly they may be. 

For the lowliest heart with love can beat, 

The humblest soul aspire ; 

And write on earth a record sweet, 

That seraphs may admire. 

Let us be tender with our friends while they are with 
us, and not wait until they are dead to find out their good 
qualities, and strew flowers upon their graves, which 
should have been strewn upon their pathway while liv- 
ing. Let us bring all possible sweetness and tender- 
ness, and truthfulness into all our relations with each 
other, thus blessing and being blessed, and our names and 
deeds will be as legible on the hearts of our neighbors as 
the stars on the brow of the evening ; and our gloomy 
and rayless homes will be transformed into flowery meads. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 319 

And we will not only lay the foundation for our terrestrial 
glory, but will erect a structure for our celestial glory. 

We build for eternity. The present life is only a prep- 
aration for that glorious life everlasting. The present is 
linked with the future through creation. In the vegetable, 
in the animal, and in the moral world. 

As is the egg so is the fowl ; as is the boy so is the 
man ; as is the girl so is the woman ; and as the rational 
being in this world, so will he be in the next world. 

Dives estranged from God in this world, is Dives 
estranged from God in the next world. Enoch walking 
with God here, is Enoch walking with God in a calm and 
better world. Perhaps you think that one hour buries 
another, but it is not so. You think perhaps that you 
have parted forever from the things which have past you. 
No, you have not. It has only stepped behind you, and 
there it waits ; that which you have done is with you to 
day, and that which you are doing will be with you 
to-morrow. 

When the mason carries up a wall, the course of brick 
he laid yesterday is the foundation upon which he is lay- 
ing another course to day. And all that you do on the 
structure which you are building will remain as a basis for 
that you will do to-morrow. And all that has been done 
is the understructure for that which is to be done. 

The following is for you, young ladies : Take heed 
how you build. That which you are doing, the work 


320 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


which you are performing, you do not leave behind you 
because you forget it; it passes away from you apparently, 
but not in reality. Every stroke, every single element 
abides. And one hour each day that you waste on trifles 
or indolence, saved and daily devoted to improvement, is 
enough to make an ignorant woman wise in ten years — to 
provide the luxuries of intelligence to a mind torpid from 
the lack of energy to brighten up, and strengthen facul- 
ties perishing with rust ; to make life a fruitful field and 
death a harvest of glorious deeds. Real life is thought 
and action. Usefulness strengthens our days. But lazi- 
ness, like rust, eats into the very heart of our strength. 
It is the paraylsis of the soul. All power appears only in 
transaction. The firefly only glows when upon its wing. 
And all that are desirous of rosy cheeks, good appetite, and 
sweet temper, let me recommend to you nature’s physi- 
cian, who will fill all your prescriptions free. And his 
name is employment ; and any occupation is better than 
nothing at all. Life, with all its joys and sorrows is open 
before you ; life, with all its opportunities and possibilities 
beckons you forward ! Do not go out in the world indo- 
lent and listless, drifting hither and thither on the boister- 
ous sea of life without a single noble purpose or a single 
high aspiration. As you raise yourselves you raise society, 
and infallibly raise men with you. From the throne of 
home and fireside woman wields the triple scepter of love, 
charity, virtue, and benevolence, and her influence from 
that noble position is felt wherever man is found. 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


321 


Paul says that woman should be very bashful and 
shame-faced, and should keep her head covered. There 
is nothing that the world admires more than modesty in a 
lady ; but there are two kinds of modesty, the true and 
the false ; but the latter is more prevalent, and my opinion 
is that if Paul could rise from the grave and view the thou- 
sands of women going to destruction, sitting in the lap of 
false modesty, he would weep as no man ever wept before, 
and would exclaim with a loud voice, saying, “Young 
ladies, uncover your heads, and tear from your faces the 
veil of false modesty; buckle on your armor of faith, hope, 
and independence, and look the world square in the face, 
and never be ashamed of honest labor.” 

There has been quite a revolution on our terrestrial 
globe since Paul’s day. This world has been transformed 
into a grab-box, and its citizens are the grabbers. All 
those who have no one to grab for them will have to grab 
for themselves. It is not every woman that is blessed 
with a good grabber, while there are thousands who have 
none at all, and no likelihood of it. Now my opinion is if 
we all sit back with covered heads and bashful faces, while 
the performance is going on. we will be pretty apt to come 
out lacking, and the worst of it is we will come out hungry 
too. 

You may now be blessed with happy homes and kind 
parents, and all in life to make you happy. Your paths 
may be strewn with flowers of the richest hue, and pros- 


322 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


perity may hover over you with her shining wings, while 
the gentle zephyrs catch the echo of your mirthful laugh- 
ter and chant it across the chords of the Aiolian harp. But 
you “know not what a day may bring forth.” Death 
may come along and take those parents from you. Ad- 
versity may come along and sweep from over your unso- 
phisticated heads that dear parental roof, and you may be 
left alone “to live or die, survive or perish,” with nothing 
but your resolution, your energies, and a right mind, to 
labor and to wait, and to make the best of life you can. 

The time will surely come when you will be called on 
to do your share of the duties and responsibilities of life. 
Do it cheerfully and prayerfully ; and if your hands are 
browned by labor, do not envy Miss Fuss-and-Feathers, 
whose mother works in the kitchen, while the daughter 
lounges in the sitting-room. Do not feel yourselves too 
lofty to do any thing that is honorable. 

Christ washed the weary feet of his disciples — to day 
Christ is enthroned. Even the highest archangel bows 
before him. The nobles and dignitaries of heaven are 
none the less respectful, none the less worshipful because 
he washed the dusty feet of his disciples. And when we 
come to stand before him, think you that we will be less 
honored because we have done lowly service ? Ah ! my 
friend, it “ demands a far more nobility of soul to observe 
the importance of little things than to follow the great.” 

“Great events come from small beginnings. The high- 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


323 


est workmen are those who take the trifles of to-day, and 
make of them the grand movements of to-morrow.” 

“ Great men and noble women in all ages, and among 
all nations, have worked their way up from the bottom. 
Like a seed cast upon the earth, to rise up and unfold the 
branches, the blossoms and the fruit, whose tender buds 
are first directed by the delicate hands of a faithful 
mother.” 

Go to the worm that you tread upon and learn a lesson 
of wisdom. The very caterpillars that seek the food 
that fosters it for another and similar state, and more wise 
than man builds its own sepulchre from which in time, by 
a kind of resurrection, it comes forth a new creature almost 
angelic in form. That which crawled flies and that which 
fed on comparatively gross food, sips the honey from 
the beautiful flowers ; and the dewdrops that sparkle and 
revel in the green pastures, an emblem of that paradise 
where flows the River of Life, and grows the tree of 
life. If the caterpillar had never attained the butterfly’s 
splendid form and hue, it would have certainly perished a 
worthless worm. 

Consider their ways and be wise. Let not our reason 
be less available than their instinct. And as often as it 
flits across our path, remember it whispers in its flight, 
“We live in deeds and not in words.” So live and act in 
all the positions that you may be called to fill, in all the 
duties of life with which you may be burdened, that, 


324 


A BEAUTIFUL BIRD WITHOUT A NAME. 


when at last for you, the bucket is broken at the well, the 
pitcher at the fountain, and the gold cord of life is snapped 
asunder, when at last for you the bell tolls a requiem, and 
the angel of death hovers over your shattered form and 
sweeps away the mist that gathers on the soul in its earth 
wanderings, heavens aisles may echo with, “Well done 
thou good and faithful servant. Thou hast been faithful in 
a few things, I will make thee ruler over many/' 


The End. 


DOUBT AND DESPAIR. 


Alone I made my daily round, 

With a spirit of unrest and strife ; 

And I thought to myself as I pondered along, 

“ What is this wearisome thing called life ? ” 

For my path was rugged, and briers 
Grew thick with each day ; 

The road was of stone, and tired 
My feet in their toilsome way. 

Depressed with care I wandered forth, 

Some shady spot to seek ; 

The sun was shining bright in heaven, 

Its rays the sky did streak. 

Through many a narrow path I pressed, 

Till ’neath an ancient tree 

I saw an aged man at rest 
And lost in reverie. 

Upon his venerable brow 

Deep thought had set its seal, 

And I, with a respectful bow, 

Did thus to him appeal : 

Old man, content you seem to be, 

While I my head in sorrow bend ; 

Can you not tell me what is best 
For a discontented friend ? 

What is best for me to try 
Contentment to secure ? 

What will my many wants supply 
And happiness insure ? ” 


DOUBT AND DESPAiR. 


Looking up with tearful eyes 
The old man did thus respond : 

My child, you seek perfection here — 
’Tis nowhere to be found ! 

Earthly anticipations bright, 

However freely they are given, 

Bring neither unalloyed delight — 

There is no peace this side of heaven 

Religion points the only way 
To charms so truly great ; 

The honest Christian surely may 
In peace those charms await ! ” 

I then my own little chamber sought, 
And knelt there down and prayed, 

That God would give me courage, 

The sea of life to wade. 

Then upon my couch I sank, 

My cares to forget, 

And soon to the land of dreams I roved, 
And two hideous figures met. 

Upon a ship I seemed to ride, 

Whose sails were blacker than the tide 

Upon its ghostly deck I stood, 

And gazed upon a sea of blood. 

As I stood upon the lonely deck, 

These hideous figures came ; 

To steer my phantom ship across 
The dark and stormy main. 

Upon their heads they wear a crown 
With their appellation branded there, 

And as I gazed on them I found 

Their names were Doubt and Despair. 


DOUBT AftD DESPAlft. 


O, those dark and hideous figures ! 

O’er me their forms were bowed, 

And o’er their face was wrapped a mantle 
And robed as with an angry cloud. 

“ I’ll give you a crown,” said Despair, 

“A crown a queen might proudly wear, 
With leaves and stems of matchless sheen, 

Of emerald seem superbly green.” 

And upon my pallid brow they placed 
A wreath of thorns instead of flowers, 
Then rang the mocking laugh — ha, ha ! 

As they gazed upon these brandish bowers. 

I then with bitter anguish flung 

Myself beneath the darkening sky, 

So black the clouds that o’er me hung, 

I laid me down and prayed to die. 

But vainly rose my feeble prayer, 

The King of Terrors came not there, 

The wind swept on with ceaseless moan, 

And mocked my prayer with hollow tone. 

“Now come,” said Doubt, and dwell with me, 
“ There is no one that cares for thee ; 

For thee there’s naught but grief and pain ; 
Hope is false and prayer is vain.” 

“O, no,” said I, “ you can not be 

The friends that I would wish to see, 

I spy another ship afar 

Whose pilot is the evening star.” 

And from that ship I hear a voice, 

Saying, “ Come all ye unto me 
That are weary and heavy laden, 

And I will give you passage free. 


328 


DOUBT AND DESPAIR. 


“ No storm disturbs our peaceful isle, 

No tempest wrecks our happy shore, 

All is calm, repose doth smile, 

And there is peace forever more.” 

With a content and joyous heart, 

1 sought at last this peaceful ark, 

Where glow-worms dropped in shining showers, 
And my thorns were turned to orange flowers. 

Then where dark clouds so late had driven, 

And rolling thunders fiercely spoke, 

Now sunlight through the gates of heaven 
In streams of softest splendor broke. 

There is one thing that I have learned — 

There is no truth above the sod, 

There is no real trust or love 

But that which Christians place in God. 





in press : 

“CRADLED UPON THE TIDE,” 

BY 

Miss Belle Peterson, 

AUTHOR OF 

“A Beautiful Bird Without a Name,” 

“ Rose Sherwood,” 

“ A Word and a Tear,” 

Etc., Etc. 

















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